I have discovered something which I feel may be able to aide our quest in expanding trade. As of this moment, within the Taldan borderwood is a gate that the Taldans themselves are nearly completely unaware of. This gate leads straight into Irrisen, which is where I am writing you from. I write this as I wait out a storm with a traveling caravan, and the same individuals who have aided me up to this point. How did I get here, you must be asking, it is not a short tale, but here is the crux of it.
After my last missive, we followed the trail further into the border wood towards what the source of this unseasonable winter must be. Nearing we met with an arctic weasle who was as large if not larger than a horse, it attacked us and my confederates were able to subdue it. We then met with Blizzard Elementals, or so Ergo told me, and a creature identified as a Mephit. We also found ourselves tangling with tiny creatures who led the ever-absent Besk into a trap where he plummeted into a bed of spikes before the rest of us could attempt his rescue. Also there was a frosty troll whom we dispatched with little effort before meeting with a Black Rider of Irrisen, This is where the tale gets to be a bit unbelievable. The black riders must be some sort of Irrisen Generals loyal to Baba Yaga. The curfrent queen of Irrisen does not want her reign to end as the 100 years of it near their close. She somehow has prevented Baba Yaga’s return and has now set her sights upon conquering Golarion. These icy portals presumably are to allow her armies access to different areas of the world. I feel that this supersedes my assignment to monitor Taldan activities near the border wood, and I have set off to see Baba Yaga returned. Expect regular missives but there should be a travel delay on them.
We were instructed that in order to close it we must go to a pale tower on the other side of it. Once through we happened upon a caravan being attacked by Mantises the size of horses. We slew the beasts and were able to save the caravan, who warned us of the approaching storm. While it storms I sit, rather uncomfortably writing this letter to you.
May the Satrap reign all of his days,
The Grey of the Lion’s Mane.