[hr][hr][center][color=lightblue][h1]Cold Hands[/h1][/color][/center][hr][hr]
[b][i]The Northlands
The Fortress-Monastery of Atan[/i][/b]

Cold Hands sat with her back against the parapet of the great tower. Her eyes were closed, her thoughts were still, and her soul was alive. She did not feel the cold bite of the wind that swept over her. It was freezing she knew, but instead it felt like a warm, gentle caress, a welcoming reminder that she was home. She had left her companions, a party of roguish adventurers behind in the Jewel of the South. Cold Hands had felt a stirring, a desperate longing to return to the monastery, and she knew well-enough to listen to such guidance. After months on the road, the familiar snow-capped mountains were a welcome respite. At least for a moment...

"Cold Hands," Brother Elgot loudly ordered, stirring the young acolyte from her gentle thoughts. Hunched over the ancient spyglass affixed to the parapet, he was wrapped in several thick robes. His one good eye staring through the skillfully polished glass.

"Yes, Brother?"

"Are we awaiting any pilgrims?"

"Not to my knowledge, Brother."

"Well then...why is there a robed figure trudging up the mountain?"

"I don not know, Brother," Cold Hands replied, eying the Elgot with a single open eye.

"Of course. Those symbols, those gaudy colors. That misplaced sense of pride and disgusting arrogance. And that terrible choice in robes. It's the Grand Observatory of Ithell," the older monk hissed, slapping a gloved hand angrily against the stone.

Cold Hands forced herself to smile in response. Unlike a great many of her fellow acolytes, she did not bear any strong feelings towards the astronomers of the distant tower. There were many paths that led to enlightenment and Cold Hands had always been facilitated by the theories that the stargazers produced. She hoped to one day visit the Grand Observatory of Ithell. Within the great library of the observatory were a number of rare books that she wanted to read. Wonderful tomes of theological knowledge that she was unable to find within the walls of Atan.

Rising fluidly to her feet, Cold Hands bowed politely to the older monk. "Rest easy, Brother. I will go greet the traveler. They must be weary after such a long climb through the snow."

"No, Cold Hands, wait! Come back! Don't let them in—" Brother Elgot shouted.

Cold Hands pretended not to hear him over the rising howl of the wind. All visitors were welcome, all seekers were invited, and provided the price required for true knowledge was paid, Cold Hands saw no reason to deviate from respected tradition.