Baba Yaga

I blow strongly on the heady herbal tea that Baba has given me, warming my freezing hands on the steaming cup. I'm sitting on a rocking chair on the terrace of her isba, wrapped up in a wool blanket to protect me at least a little from the cold. Even though I'm sorely tempted to take refuge inside the hut, I know it's not a good idea. I'm the one assigned to monitor the Black Wave today, alongside the old witch. I hear the front door open, and Baba Yaga comes out with a tray in her hands. On it are some small porcelain plates loaded with sugar-coated cookies, little pastries and preserves. And another steaming teapot, of course. Her friendly manner makes her seem more like a grandmother than a frightening old shrew. Taru emerges timidly from under the covers after seeing these new treats.

Baba sits down next to me and starts to knit her woolen scarf again. I watch her at work as I inhale the scent of spices: cloves, cinnamon, star anise, cardamom... The Gora grove could have been quite a relaxing place in the Kadigir if it weren't for this Tumult Singularity. Suddenly, the isba starts to move on its chicken legs. I spill a little of my tea and curse, then notice that Baba has stood up. She scans the fleecy plain with its grass as black as night. I feel a sudden uneasiness, which heightens when I see the witch grab her pestle and summon her mortar. I feel a churning in my stomach as the Black Wave quivers. The mood in the obsidian clearing turns grim. I too stand up and begin to cover myself with Sigils. And when I turn towards Baba again, I see that the friendly old woman is now a harpy with a terrifying face...