It wasn’t the cold Beatrix felt first but rather the creeping doom that slithered into her chest, the feeling of the inevitable collapse of the body and the mind, the very real awareness of her and her companions’ mortality. The cold came second, piercing through her armor, and she shivered a litte. Her country was warm and welcoming, nothing like this bitter chill. It set her on edge.

The events on the table did little more than worsen her concern. Something felt decided unnatural in the air and Beatrix gripped the hilt of her sword. Her eyes darted around, looking for some sort of danger, but she found nothing. She felt the goosebumps down her spine and tsked at herself. Her grip relaxed but she remained alert.

[color=OrangeRed]“What exactly is this Butcher of Seven Fields?”[/color] Beatrix echoed Cyterius’s question. It was not a name familiar to her but it was ominous nonetheless. She imagined a person with that title knew their way around a sword at the very least. 

[color=OrangeRed]“Raise the alarm one way or the other. Danger is a guaranteed; I can feel it on the wind.”[/color] Beatrix replied. She was loathe to let someone leave lest this threat be waiting for their group to split but information was sorely needed. Unless S’vennia know more than just [i]danger[/i]. Beatrix strapped on her shield. 

[color=OrangeRed]“For those of whom I walk with and for I who walk with them.”[/color] She murmured as she finished strapping it on. Nothing happened for a moment but the shield began to pulse a soft white, the creeping doom fading away into a blazing resolve. Those near her would feel it as well, the bite of the chill and the crushing aura fading a little.

[color=OrangeRed]“We should strive not to break ranks too quickly. Something or someone very clearly has the advantage but we do need eyes. While he checks the outposts, the rest of us should rally the troops. What was the plan i the event of an attack and have all the soldiers been notified?”[/color] Beatrix followed up.