- Snowpeak Ruins (TP) - Eevachu - Rika Electronic Ink - Basil Hawthorne The air had been getting colder for some time now, but Basil wouldn't rest yet. He'd flown in circles for quite some time after he'd realised that his map of the region stopped at the outskirts of Nabooru, but the urge to explore blindly had seized him. What was the use of an adventure if you always knew where you were going? He hadn't quite begun to regret his choice yet, but the snow whipping against him was getting somewhat stressful. Hewistrad's wings were tiring, and unlike earlier points in their journey the poor owl couldn't land on his besom to rest or the winds would pull her right off again. Even the glass-cased lantern was flickering too dim for Basil's comfort. "Nearly there, dear," he assured his familiar. She had spotted it before he had, but there was a grand house high in the jagged snowy landscape. The ancient old thing had lights blazing through its windows, a clear sign of inhabitation. So that was where they would go. The broomstick moved lower and lower as they approached, Basil bracing his boots against the stirrups at the changes in wind that followed their descent. He doubted he'd ever been more relieved when those same boots touched down on the porch of the mansion. He swung his legs off his broom, watching Hewistrad immediately make herself at home on a railing. Her feathers were puffed out and she seemed twitchy, but Basil couldn't tell if that was due to the cold or her discomfort at the strange place they were in. Nevertheless, he straightened his shawl and looked around. He could knock on the door, of course, but not for the first time it occurred to Basil that he had little idea of what he may encounter out here. A huge, somewhat unkept looking house in the middle of the mountains may not be as welcoming as folk tales had suggested. Granted, a good number of those folk tales were from old books where witches were the evil, so they might not exactly be reliable. The town hall's collection of books seemed to only keep those ones for the numbers; he'd never encountered a villager who wasn't fond of his grandmother's craft. Between the wind, however, there was a sound. Basil turned, a little wrongfooted. Was the house's inhabitant out here with him? The snow was thick on the ground and he could see no footprints leading away from the porch, or in sight at all. His broom meant he hadn't left any himself, but the area's lack of signs of life made it unnerving. He leaned against the wall, looking out into the snow. Perhaps he would wait to see if his suspicion was right, before making any decisions. Because though visibility was quite poor, he was fairly sure he could see a reddish blur not so far away.
