You are walking through a dark forest.
You had been told to seek the Baba Yaga here. You had been told to watch for three riders, on magic steeds, galloping across the sky. You were told that you would see a white rider, on a white horse, radiant as the dawn; you were to watch where he went, and go the other way. Next, you were told, you would see a red rider, on a red horse, blazing like the sun; and again you were to watch where he went, and go the other way. Finally, you were to see a black rider, on a black horse, dark as night, going the same way as the first two; and if you continued on your path, you would soon find yourself in a clearing. In this clearing would be a fence of sharpened posts, crowned with skulls, whose eyes would shine like daylight; and in the fence would be a gate. Past that gate would be a hut, on chicken legs; and you were to approach it, and speak the magic words...
But you have been wandering around this forest for several days now. You're quite sure you are in what must be its deepest and darkest part; but you have seen no riders — not the black, nor the red, nor the white; and you've found no clearings, nor any sign of life. You are beginning to think that perhaps there's no truth to the old stories after all. You can't tell if it's day or night — not with the trees so tall and close together, and their branches so thick above. And just as you're seriously entertaining thoughts of turning back, you spot a faint, a very faint, light, in the distance through the trees.
You push forward through the woods, keeping the distant glow in sight; and you can't tell how far away it is, not through this thick forest; only you hope that you're getting closer. Then, all of a sudden, you push through the grasping branches, and find yourself in a clearing. It must be night after all; in the dark, the trees press down from all sides like walls. But it's a strange thing: this must be the place you seek, but it's not like in the stories you were told. There is a fence of sharpened posts, but they lean all awry; their wood is dry, and cracked. And there are skulls atop them, but they too are cracked and discolored; their eyes are dark, save but a few, which glow dimly — they are the source of the light you spied. You spot a gap in the fence; the gate that once filled that gap lies on the ground, torn off its crumbled hinges by some storm. You peer into the courtyard beyond. There is no hut on chicken legs; nor any other structure. Weedy grass grows here, and nothing else. No one is here; no sounds of the forest can be heard; only silence.
As you turn, looking in every direction, at every corner of the courtyard, looking for any clue that this is not a dead end, you realize with a start that you are not alone. Sitting on one of the skulls atop the sharpened posts — one of those that's still aglow — is a cat. Not a black cat, like in the stories; but quite an ordinary grey cat, though perhaps rather on the large side for a housecat. Its eyes don't shine with a baleful gleam, and the sight of it does not send a chill down your spine. It seems entirely too ordinary to be here, in a place like this. Only... only it looks at you with rather too clever a look in its eyes, for a simple cat. As you stare at it, trying to decide whether it's just a dumb animal, or some sort of magic cat after all, the cat speaks.
"I know who you're looking for. She's not here."
<if PC says 'whoa, a talking cat!', the cat bares its teeth disapprovingly, and says "You came here looking for a witch who lives in a magic house on chicken legs. I don't think it's very sensible to be surprised by a talking cat.">
<where is she?>
"She's gone away. Very, very far."
<is she going to be back soon?>
"No. She may never be back, if certain people don't do something about it."
<and who are those people?>
"Who else? You. That is, if you really want what you came here for."
(after this ...)
or
<do you know how I can find her?>
"What you came here for — how badly do you want it?"
(... or after this ...)
(the following: And as he says this, for a moment, you feel a strange feeling. For just a moment, as you look at the cat, you are convinced that it is not a cat, but a man; and that he is not truly here, but in another place, very far away — a vast place, with tremendous, strange things, and... and before you come to fully apprehend what it is you think you suddenly know, the moment passes; and you shake your head, and cannot summon the strange feeling again; and the cat is just a cat, who is looking at you curiously, as though you've out of nowhere started to dance on one leg and clap your hands.)
<very badly>
"Would you risk dying? Would you suffer? Struggle? Go far from home, so far that they who live there have never heard of your home or your people, for who knows how long?"
<if the PC says something like, well, this thing I have is urgent!, the cat laughs and says>
"Don't grasp at straws, human; I am a cat, and we cats are not deceived by such things. You will return victorious, and your aim accomplished, or not return; but the question is, what will you sacrifice? Your life, your time, your pain."
<if the PC says 'yes'>
"Then I can help you. I am only a cat, and not a god; but I can do a little. Here..." The cat reaches behind him, and pushes something forward with his paw, a small round thing; it rolls off the skull on which the cat sits, and falls, and rolls across the ground toward you, and you see that it's a ball of yarn, grey, like the cat's fur. "Throw this in front of you, and it will roll forward, and unravel, but never come to its end. Follow the ball as it rolls and the string as it unravels, and after some time, you will come to another place; very far, and very strange. Do not be surprised when you get there, but keep your wits about you. Seek the signs of winter, and unnatural things; they will lead you to Dear Grandmother."
"Now take this advice, though I am only a cat, and don't know everything — but I know these things. You have many trials ahead of you, but you are not alone; many worlds have been touched by Baba Yaga, and there are others besides you who wish for her return. Death will be your least foe; foolishness and arrogance, your greatest enemies. In this other place, not everything nor everyone are as they seem, not even you, and help may come from the most surprising places. And remember this: yours is a one-way journey — unless you succeed. Lest you find Baba Yaga, you will not return home, not ever. My gift won't help you; you can't walk back along the path, endless though it may be. The only way is forward."
