Planeside 3

[Earl of Purple]

Prison Realm

Earl just went back to check, and had not specified the material of the walkway. I thought they were wood, but did not state as such. So instead they're stone, since I don't think Kiun would release a pyrokineticist whom she knows wants to burn her whilst standing on a wooden walkway over an apparently endless void.

The Burning Bishop steps from his cell, and conjures flame which he blasts at Kiun. It's very hot fire, but ultimately just fire. If Kiun could survive going paddling in molten lead, she's probably going to be fine. Her clothes might not be, but there's always the murderous mannequins. The skull doesn't burn either; it would, but it's put up a protective bubble about itself so the fires aren't getting close enough. It's a pretty small bubble, so the Bishop doesn't seem to have noticed it yet. He'll keep going for a while, though. Just to be on the safe side.

[Recaiden]

[Brefaisil]

Oh. That kind of weaver.

Marcie does her best to stay away from the doors and webs, in the middle of the tunnels, and keep track of the way she came. Left, right, stairs down...
"Hello, my Lady."
"It's the endless night, and curse on every creature, that brings me to you."

[Prison Realm]

Kiun can fly, the skull can kinda hover... the bishop would mostly be troubling himself if he set the walkway ablaze.
But still, she's glad it's not burning up.

When the flames pass, Kiun's clothes (already quite threadbare) and the few things in her pockets have been completely reduced to ash, and she seems to be sweating heavily; being able to survive fire doesn't make it perfectly comfortable, it still exists after all.
She shifts her lower wings to cover herself somewhere, and takes a few slow breaths.
"Did you not trust me? Come, this way." And she hurried along the walkway, tail waving back and forth behind her.

She isn't sure if he's fireproof himself, or only to his own flames, but sees no need to test it.

[Earl of Purple]

Prison Realm

The Bishop blushes slightly at Kiun's nudity, but really he's seen worse after burning people. Clearly, the clothes were... uh, not righteous? Made of heretical materials? Or maybe just flammable. "You are accompanied by the undead, caution was warranted Though the skull seems to be pure hearted, at least." Which is odd, since it hasn't had a heart in centuries, possibly millenia. It stopped counting after the tower collapsed.

He is, in fact, immune to flame. Despite creating the fire that burnt away Kiun's clothing and would have melted lead, his shirt is only slightly scorched. He follows Kiun and the skull. "Who are you, anyway? And where did you find your familiar?" The skull would protest that description, but doesn't realise he's talking about it.

[Ironsmith]

The cobwebs sway gently as a breeze blows through the tunnel, a melodic plucking ringing out as the singer resumes.

So say all of those who travel
Who kneel beside my loom
Their wounded minds to unravel
Relieve from twilit doom

What ails you?
Confide your pain to the Weaver
Rest for you
Let her knit you an ashen shroud
Come speak true
Speak your mind before the Weaver
Bring silent griefs aloud


The webs in front of Marcie seem to recede, rolling back with the wind so she can see a silhouette in the tunnel ahead of her. She'll probably recognize the distinctive rectangular shape of a loom in front of her, as well as the horned humanoid shape sitting besides it, running her hands over the strings gently. She doesn't look up from her work, but vocalizes melodically as she seems to magic a garment into being, beckoning Marcie closer.

[Recaiden]

[Prison Realm]

It's a clever way to handle things. Can't have any impurities in your heart if you don't have a heart.

She slows down a bit to talk with the Bishop more comfortably, but doesn't stop.
"I am Marquess Kiun of Ell. I'm on a quest to understand the Form of Love. And also to fight demons."

She pauses in momentary confusion at the other question.
"I don't have a familiar yet. Nothing has seemed right."
"But the skull, he was also imprisoned here, by a foe of the gods."

[Brefaisil]

Marcie walks a bit closer, thinking that the Weaver has gotten the wrong idea of it all.
Still, that's no reason not to answer.
"If there was anyone who hoped to fix things, to end the curse, to see the sun again, that must have been many years ago; they're not here now, no one seems to even imagine that."

"How? Why? No one cares. Braeg only acted how he did because he was surprised." She shakes her head for a moment, before gesturing to the loom.
"Who are you making that for?"

[Ironsmith]

The woman shakes her head, a melancholy air entering into her voice.

I weave for any who wander
Cannot bear to see home
Whose hearts have been torn asunder
And wish no more to roam

You see not a place of healing
Too late, this twilight hour
But rather, a rest from all feeling
Embracing ancient power

No more sorrow
No quiet cries in the darkness
No tomorrow
No more sinning to confess

As the dusk draws on forever
Some choose a peaceful sleep
Over thought of ending never
And losing all they keep

So come they all to the Weaver
With heavy hearts and eyes
For even the staunchest believers
May one day wish to die.

[Recaiden]

The Weaver's words set her skin crawling more than any hint of scuttling spiders could.

"I did not come to you because you are the Weaver."

"I have a home to return to, and roads still to roam on."
"You're not doing them any favors, though, however much they might be suffering."
"There is no 'too late', only 'not yet'."

A few ideas occur, new angles, so she sets that aside to ask.
"But - will you sing of those who came to you before the curse? Or just as it was beginning?"

[Ironsmith]

The Weaver raises her head and nods slowly, running her fingers along the threads of her loom as she silently composes her thoughts. Finally, she starts singing again, a different tune from before; still slow and melancholy, but with a softness that wouldn't be out of place in a lullaby.

The moon was still whole
Adea yet reigned
When I walked my old forest glen

My songs I would sing
And there they all came
The lost and the frightened children

I would weave them cloaks
And garments of silk
Warm and safe for one lonely night

So soundly they slept
Serene in their rest
Off on their way, come the first light


The woman hums to herself as she presents her weave to Marcie; a monochrome depiction of a large, old oak tree, with hammocks slung over the branches. The Weaver herself sits in a knothole in the center of the tree.

[Recaiden]

The moon was still whole? Is it Adea's projection into the world, the way Absum is aligned with the sun? Did it then break upon her death, or the other way around?
Marcie of course hasn't seen it. And flying to the moon is probably not where their answers lie. What's more, Absum probably wouldn't take it well if they tried...

The other voice in the poem has fallen silent. That is a good sign, she thinks. But there's still not a ton in the way of coherent communication going on.

"The glen is not as it was, I imagine. Fewer children, and more to be frightened of."
She examines the tapestry with it's unfamiliar tree. It is a good scene that it depicts. Sad but comforting all at once. It will be good for there to have been such things as the Weaver's glen, and such people as the Weaver used to be, even if they don't last forever.
"It can be like that again. Don't think of the current doom as the way things will always be. I won't let it. You shouldn't either."
That said, Marcie gives the weaver a bow, and tries to step back, retreating the way she came.

[Earl of Purple]

Prison Realm

"I am Cardinal Godestane, the Bishop of the House of All Lights of Herdisanes. Or... I guess technically, I was. But they had no right to strip me of the title, so... I am still Cardinal." He nods a little at the explanation of the skull, feeling a little better since it was locked up by an enemy of the gods. It won't help his acceptance if he learnt they needed a sceptic of Emile's calibre because the skull was attempting to achieve apotheosis.

The skull floats up, and introduces itself, too. Though as it does so through reflections in its mirror, Kiun can't see what it says. "Pleased to meet you, too, Am-Het."

[Recaiden]

[Prison Realm]

"A Cardinal and a Bishop at the same time?" She had thought she remembered those going in an order.
Oh well.

"There shouldn't be any more occupied cells ahead of us, but there will probably be guards at the end who object to us leaving."
"Will you both be ready?"

[Ironsmith]

The moon was still whole? Is it Adea's projection into the world, the way Absum is aligned with the sun? Did it then break upon her death, or the other way around?
Marcie of course hasn't seen it. And flying to the moon is probably not where their answers lie. What's more, Absum probably wouldn't take it well if they tried...

The other voice in the poem has fallen silent. That is a good sign, she thinks. But there's still not a ton in the way of coherent communication going on.

"The glen is not as it was, I imagine. Fewer children, and more to be frightened of."
She examines the tapestry with it's unfamiliar tree. It is a good scene that it depicts. Sad but comforting all at once. It will be good for there to have been such things as the Weaver's glen, and such people as the Weaver used to be, even if they don't last forever.
"It can be like that again. Don't think of the current doom as the way things will always be. I won't let it. You shouldn't either."
That said, Marcie gives the weaver a bow, and tries to step back, retreating the way she came.

[Brefaisil]

If Marcie turns around, she'll see the massive spiderweb before running into it, as well as notice the fact that it's covered in fist-sized arachnids. They must have spun it while Marcie was occupied talking to the Weaver.

Who is now standing up.

If Marcie looks at her, she'll quickly realize that the creature before her is much less humanoid than she first appeared to be; her limbs end in pointed tips, not hands, and she had a few more of them hidden under her cloak. Her entire lower half drops away as she rises, snapping like so many old threads as they stop concealing the spidery monster's enlarged abdomen. And even from here, Marcie will see the spider-lady's mouth flare open dramatically, into a set of mandibles.

[Recaiden]

Marcie straightens and turns to see a web and spiders blocking her way. Shockingly large ones, too. It's a shame the spider specialist isn't part of the deniable assets that could be sent on this mission.
And an instant later she turns her head back see the Weaver. The fact that Fraochun is a spider monster isn't entirely unexpected. Years of becoming more like the creatures she feeds on, while down here surrounded by them? There were probably spiders at her glen, too.
So that's how it is. Threats, violence, eaten by spiders.

She realizes that she neglected to ensure that an exit was open. Of course, that would be rather difficult, in this closed-in, twisty-turny space. There's no reason there shouldn't be multiple layers of spiderwebs at different distances down the hallway.

For an instant, just an instant, she considers. What exactly Lord and Ladies can do is unknown, and there are strange magics used here in Maesda that they haven't seen elsewhere. The Weaver has probably lost much of that capability, and doesn't seem to be terribly well-fed. The spider-thing is surely faster than her in these tight quarters, even if she removes the webs. Doing the Alni thing hasn't been tested on strigoi, and could easily backfire.

Marcie concentrates on the other of her spinning magical crystals, and everything around her turns to fire. A wave of heat and burning that she expects to fill the whole room and the hall behind her, engulfing all except a little circle around her.
That should be a good start.

[Earl of Purple]

Prison Realm

Earl should have looked up 'Cardinal' before selecting it as a title, it turns out. It means a specific thing, and isn't just another title for a bishop. Whoops. Please change the 'I am still Cardinal' to 'I am still Bishop'; I'd edit but this is slightly easier.

"Yes, it's a courtesy title. Unlike the others, it doesn't have any particular powers or duties attached to it. The King counted me as one of his advisors, for about three months, and addressed me as 'Cardinal' so it just kind of stuck. His previous religious advisor died in their sleep, I stepped into the position until a trained theocrat could be sent out from the Temple-City." He continues along the path, and smiles. "I shall test their faith, and find them wanting. No true believer would lock up a bishop." The skull merely bobs in the air, in an attempt at a nod.

Ahead, another cell becomes visible. It's open, and a pair of the Hands of Justice step out, one holding a lamp-pole and the other a flail.

[Ironsmith]

Marcie straightens and turns to see a web and spiders blocking her way. Shockingly large ones, too. It's a shame the spider specialist isn't part of the deniable assets that could be sent on this mission.
And an instant later she turns her head back see the Weaver. The fact that Fraochun is a spider monster isn't entirely unexpected. Years of becoming more like the creatures she feeds on, while down here surrounded by them? There were probably spiders at her glen, too.
So that's how it is. Threats, violence, eaten by spiders.

She realizes that she neglected to ensure that an exit was open. Of course, that would be rather difficult, in this closed-in, twisty-turny space. There's no reason there shouldn't be multiple layers of spiderwebs at different distances down the hallway.

For an instant, just an instant, she considers. What exactly Lord and Ladies can do is unknown, and there are strange magics used here in Maesda that they haven't seen elsewhere. The Weaver has probably lost much of that capability, and doesn't seem to be terribly well-fed. The spider-thing is surely faster than her in these tight quarters, even if she removes the webs. Doing the Alni thing hasn't been tested on strigoi, and could easily backfire.

Marcie concentrates on the other of her spinning magical crystals, and everything around her turns to fire. A wave of heat and burning that she expects to fill the whole room and the hall behind her, engulfing all except a little circle around her.
That should be a good start.

[Brefaisil]

If Marcie was unaware before, this would be how she learns that spider webs don't actually burn very well. The intense heat is enough to cause the web barring her path to shrivel and crackle brittly, but it doesn't really catch fire.

The cobwebs that decorate the Weaver's lair, on the other hand, being covered in various sheddings that are themselves flammable, go up like flash paper- literally, lasting only long enough to provide a brief but brilliant flare.

The spiders themselves, likewise, also don't take to the fire very well; the ones that get caught out in it quickly find themselves aflame, skittering around in a desperate attempt to extinguish themselves, chittering madly in an animalistic-

"Burnssssss!"
"She burnsss usss!"
"It hurtsssss!"
"Sssstop it, misstressss, ssstop it!"

Fraochun herself, however, seems... undaunted. The flames dance across her skin as she calmly slides up to Marcie, regarding her with a pair of large, bead-like eyes. She casually reaches up and attempts to bat aside one of Marcie's spinning crystals, seeking to disrupt her magic.

[Fenric]

"Now, now." Braeg chides playfully, twisting the granite ring on his finger. "See that you don't forget your manners, master Mephistopheles- good me, that's a mouthful, isn't it? Remember your manners, Steph." He chuckles. "It reflects badly on you if you don't. After all, if I'm a pathetic nobody, and yet have the lady's favor, while you do not... what, pray tell, does that make you?" A mischievous smirk builds up on his face as he strides up to the arch-devil, a confident swagger to his step. When he's close, he idly reaches over to pluck a bit of lint from the other man's suit. "Let's settle this like gentlemen. Or like creatures more clever than a pair of bucks ramming their antlers togther, at any rate."

Humility was never one of his strong points, to say the least. Being the second-most powerful lord in the nine hells doesn't tend toward that sort of things.

He glares daggers at Braeg and looks quite ready to butt heads, comparison to an animal or not, but then flinches as if stung when Braeg grazes his shoulder. Composure and his human guise both crumble as a look of rage twists his suddenly (and appropriately) devilish face.

CHAMPION?!?! You made this... this...

Words fail him as does his attempt to gate in more devils to help.

Ah ah ah: my garden, my rules. You now face the choices of defeat in single compbat, or retreat: either way, Braeg gains quite the bragging rights.

[Ironsmith]

[Plane of Ice]

Braeg smiles, genuinely amused by how quickly the devil's composure broke down. If his concentration broke that easily during their contest, it would last moments at most. "Oh, come now, really?" He quirks an eyebrow at Inari, giving her a conspiratorial smirk. "Combat is such a barbaric form of contest. And so dreadfully dull for beings of our stature. Oh, certainly, you get a spectacle, but surely men as cunning as Steph and I can do better." He chuckles. "Perhaps cath fili? Or a race, those are good fun. Certainly more so than flinging around fireballs until a winner is declared."

[Fenric]

Mephisto regains his composure almost as quickly as he lost it. He narrows his once-again human eyes.

I see. Very well, then: we will pursue your oh so sophisticated rhyme contest. The winner gains the lady's affection, and the loser must relinquish all claim for a thousand years.

He holds out his hand: the master of twisted contracts offering yet another.

[Ironsmith]

[Plane of Ice]

Braeg raises an eyebrow. He didn't expect Mephisto to be all that familiar with the fiendling tradition, but that's not exactly a mind-blowing revelation, either. And he's not under any delusions about the devil playing fair, either... so the real contest would be to see who was the better cheater.

"Fantastic!" Braeg gives his hand an enthusiastic clap and shake. "As the challenger, the honor of the first verse goes to you."

[Fenric]

Inari suddenly looks a bit surprised, feeling the bonds of a contract settling on her

Oh... crap.

Mephisto chuckles

How generous of you, Lord Braeg, though I still feel at a disadvantage given the only ones available to be judges right now can hardly be said to be impartial.

With Inari and Airi as the only other people around, the arch-devil does have a point.

[Ironsmith]

[Plane of Ice]

"Naturally." Braeg shrugs, allowing Mephistopholes an early point. That was a bit obvious, as far as gotchas go. "And I suppose you'll be wanting some manner of accomodation, then? Two more judges or two fewer?" The latter seemed unlikely; that would end the contest with no winner, and by the same token, no loser. But he couldn't gate in more devils without Inari's approval, so what, exactly, is his game?

[Fenric]

Mephistopheles smirks

Two more, naturally: demanding a draw would be ... unsatisfying, to say the least. And I shall even be so generous as to chose far more impartial judges than herself and her frozen priestess. Let us say, perhaps...

he clears his throat and a swell of power can be felt as he calls

The Right Honorable Minister of the Left and just to keep it fun, his impetuous magnificence Izanagi no Mikoto

(( Looked it up again to make sure I picked the right one this time ))

He smirks, having pulled rank on Inari in not one but two divine organizations.

After all: if I am to risk being humiliated, it's only fair to share don't you think?

Inari looks ready to chew nails as the tingling and glow of two interdimensional portals swells to life.

[Ironsmith]

[Plane of Ice]

"Certainly, certainly." Braeg agrees, giving the new arrivals a little wave when they step through. He then proceeds to explain the rules to them, if they don't already know; three rounds of verses that consist of at least two rhyming lines each, anything goes except violence, failure to produce the verses results in forfeit, judges vote on the winner at the end. All very standard stuff, really.

[Fenric]

Mephistopheles' choices could hardly have been different.

We've already described the Minister of the Left, ruler of chaos and nature. Izanagi is handsome in a rougish sort of way, anything but formal, and looks like he both has been and expects to soon be partying. He looks at Braeg much the same way the minister had earlier, but his reaction is...

Oh cool! I think I like this guy already, Inari! Hey, does this mean you'll finally come to one of my parties? No spiked sake, I swear!

Then the explanations of the contest. The Minister simply nods, looking quite solemn, but Izanagi looks skeptical.

Wait, wait... You're going to have a poetry contest with hellboy over there? This oughtta be short: if he can string three senences together without tripping over himself it'll be a miracle!

[Ironsmith]

[Plane of Ice]

Braeg finds this enthusiasm... worrying. Mephistopholes could have, in theory, picked almost anyone for this contest. So why pick two people who already seemed to favor Braeg? It didn't make any sense, unless Mephistopholes had a way of compelling them to vote in his favor, which still didn't explain it entirely, since that would leave the vote tied at 2-2. If he was playing to win, he'd have to influence them and Inari or Airi, which seemed unlikely. Braeg's guess now is that Mephistopholes intended for Braeg not to make it to the judges' verdict; maybe not through threat of violence, but attempting to trap or disqualify him somehow.

"Now, then." Braeg turns to Mephistopholes. "As agreed, you go first."

[Recaiden]

[Prison Realm]

"If you already know they'll be found wanting, do you need to test them? It will only-"
Oh. More Hands.
"Step aside, please." Kiun asks the two of them.
If they don't, she'll send out her magic to try to yank the flail from that guard's grasp.

[Brefaisil]

It's not really needed to have the webs as fuel, just have them dry and breakable while the spiders and panicking instead of laying an ambush.
Still, couldn't they all have burned so brightly as they detritus of this room?
And it doesn't bother the weaver as much as she'd hoped.

Marcie concentrates on a different energy to bring forth from the crystal, and -
The crystal is struck, and sent wheeling back and forth through the air in a crazy pattern.
As intended, the magic is disrupted. Not gone, just not under control. Instead of a wave of motive force to throw the spider-strigoi across the room, there's ... something else.
Perhaps Fraochun begins rapidly aging in reverse, the years rolling back. Or perhaps a vision of the future is revealed to her. Or in the moment of touching the crystal, she sees everything Marcie has done in Maesda. Perhaps she becomes very fast or very slow. Perhaps there's a subtle wash of temporal energy with no observable effects.

Regardless, Marcie is going to brush away the scorched spiderwebs and retreat into the hall.

[Rebonack]

[Sylvanas]

There are only two sounds native to this accursed forest.

The occasional groan of settling wood and the near-silent drifting snow.

So when a sneeze, even a muffled one, cuts through the stillness it's as if someone sounded a gong. Somehow, impossibly, the forest grows quieter at the Vault Dweller's noise.

As if it were holding it's breath in anticipation of what might follow.

Magdalene glares back at the woman, a venomous look on her face, but she doesn't speak. She doesn't reprimand her. She doesn't make a sound.

Instead?

She moves to grab the other woman by the wrist and begin hauling her forward at a fervent pace.

Keeping up will be hard.

The snow is deep and somehow Magdalene avoids sinking into the drifts, leaving strange deer prints on the surface instead. Direct contact seems to help, though. Somehow the mere act of Magdalene hanging onto the Vault Dweller will make her weight on the snow less. As if the forest isn't trying as hard to actively impede the Dweller's progress.

[Fenric]

For his part, Mephistopheles simply nods and begins

Far down the winding road I've trod
With feet in lonely sorrows shod.
My hopes and dreams a distant hill,
where love's bright becacon beaconed still.

The sky above was dim and red
so toward the next town turned my head.
Perhaps companionship to find
or drink my heart to darkness blind.

[Ironsmith]

[Brefaisil]

It's not really needed to have the webs as fuel, just have them dry and breakable while the spiders and panicking instead of laying an ambush.
Still, couldn't they all have burned so brightly as they detritus of this room?
And it doesn't bother the weaver as much as she'd hoped.

Marcie concentrates on a different energy to bring forth from the crystal, and -
The crystal is struck, and sent wheeling back and forth through the air in a crazy pattern.
As intended, the magic is disrupted. Not gone, just not under control. Instead of a wave of motive force to throw the spider-strigoi across the room, there's ... something else.
Perhaps Fraochun begins rapidly aging in reverse, the years rolling back. Or perhaps a vision of the future is revealed to her. Or in the moment of touching the crystal, she sees everything Marcie has done in Maesda. Perhaps she becomes very fast or very slow. Perhaps there's a subtle wash of temporal energy with no observable effects.

Regardless, Marcie is going to brush away the scorched spiderwebs and retreat into the hall.

[Brefaisil]

What follows is a bit of confusion.

The moment Fraochun touches the crystal, she disappears entirely, vanishing from all creation with a light pop. Then Marcie will feel a sensation on her skin, like the wind whipping over her, even though there is no logical source for such a thing in this subterranean tunnel.

And then Fraochun appears again, on a second, intricately-woven spiderweb just in Marcie's path. The elaborate weaving of gossamer strands has been shaped into a sort of runic circle, with its center lining up at Marcie's chest- a hairsbreadth away, it seems like, which makes running into it and entangling her seem extremely likely.

Fortunately, it seems as though this had some adverse effects on Fraochun herself, who now stands stock-still behind the web, not moving an inch... perhaps unable to move.

The spiders, meanwhile, are gradually extinguishing themselves, and a few of them are now skittering toward this new web, crawling up and trying to get onto Marcie herself. "Feasssssst!"

For his part, Mephistopheles simply nods and begins

Far down the winding road I've trod
With feet in lonely sorrows shod.
My hopes and dreams a distant hill,
where love's bright becacon beaconed still.

The sky above was dim and red
so toward the next town turned my head.
Perhaps companionship to find
or drink my heart to darkness blind.

[Plane of Ice]

Braeg chuckles as Mephistopheles's verse comes to an end, snapping his fingers, filling the air with sounds of a crescendo of drums. "Oh, you poor man..." He taunts, the music building into a jaunty, percussive tune as he launches into his verse:

Why linger on such dour fare?
Put some music in the air!
Even gods have a soul to serenade~

Look around! This land of cold
Has frozen wonders to behold!
Why else choose here for our promenade~?
(A promenade, a promenade, a pair's parade)

Ooooooooooh~

And there's the first dirty trick. Braeg's arranged the background music to build toward a somewhat climactic second verse, but has chosen now to switch back over to Mephistopheles; if the archdevil didn't pick up from the song immediately, the letdown would be palpable.

[Earl of Purple]

Prison Realm

"I thought I'd find you wanting, and I was wrong." Especially the skull; he was surprised the skull proved faithful. The two Hands don't step aside, instead charging in to attack. The one with the flail finds it caught by Kiun's telekinesis and yanked out of its grip, whilst the other bearing the lantern swings it across at the skull. The Bishop spreads his hands and a sheet of flame comes roiling off them, coating the two Hands. The smell of burning meat fills the air. The one that lost its weapon comes barrelling out of the fire and tries to ram into Kiun, driving her off the edge of the walkway. Its movements are slower than before, as the flames lick into the spaces between the armour plates and burn its muscles and connective tissues.

Sylvanas

The Dweller freezes at the sudden silence, eyes wide. She glances around without moving her head, suddenly far too aware she's been heard and that something is on its way to eat her. She shrinks under Magdalene's glare, and doesn't resist being grabbed or pulled after. She nearly drops her spear, before realising that- useless though it may ultimately be- it's her only weapon and she tightens her grip. Unlike her rescuer, she does not leave deer prints; her feet are clad in boots that are theoretically waterproof but in practice snow is able to work its way in and melt around her feet- though less so, now she's benefiting from Magdalene's own imprint upon this place.