_{This RP Takes place in the world of Isekai Hell. If you want to Rp with us, just message me! Check out our interest check! roleplayerguild.com/topics/196759-ise…)}

Location: The Kingdom of Rotia - "Fort Bael"
Time: Early morning
Weather: Grey skies, Cold air. Windy.

The wind carried the scent of iron and smoke long before dawn reached the northern walls.
For hours, the Bastion had lain in silence — not the peaceful kind, but the sort born from exhaustion. Frost clung to the iron spikes above the gate, and a faint hum from the furnaces deep below the streets kept the air just warm enough to smell of coal and sweat.

Then came the creak of wheels over snow.

A single wagon emerged from the fog — its frame half-buried in frost, its driver hunched and shaking. Behind it, a small group of stragglers trudged in the wagon’s wake, faces shadowed beneath their hoods. Travelers, perhaps. Or survivors of something less kind.

They were the kind of people the guards never knew what to do with this far north: not criminals, but not trustworthy either. Each had a weapon or a wound they couldn’t quite explain. Each had that look — the hollow-eyed stare of those who’d lived through something the rest hadn’t seen yet.

The winches creaked. Chains rasped. The gates of the Bastion opened, letting the strangers through with a sigh that sounded almost human. The cold followed them inside like a jealous thing.

Within the walls, life stirred to its usual rhythm. The outer streets — narrow, crooked, black with soot — smelled of ash and boiled grain. Watchmen stamped their boots beside brazier fires. Farther in, the great furnaces of the foundry pulsed like the Bastion’s heart, their glow bleeding through grates and vents to paint the fog a dull red.

It was here, in the open courtyard below the inner gate, that the strangers were halted. Guards leveled pikes, eyes wary but tired. Another dawn, another handful of souls from the frozen world beyond.

From the keep’s stairs descended Roderic Alstadt, heir to the fortress and the last son of House Alstadt’s northern branch.
He was not yet lord, though the people already looked to him as one. His father still lived — a once-great commander now too proud, too broken, and too convinced that the bastion’s walls would hold by faith alone.
Roderic knew better.

He had been awake since before dawn, inspecting ledgers that refused to balance. Shipments missing crates. Coin going unaccounted for. Supply masters swearing on their mothers’ graves that the fault lay farther south. His father, meanwhile, insisted that none of it mattered.

“The bastion endures,” the old man would say. “As it always has.”
But Roderic had seen the cracks. In the stone. In the people. In the silence that had begun to fill the chapel halls.

Now he stood at the gate as the newcomers were ushered in, his cloak half-fastened, his breath fogging the morning air.

“The gates aren’t meant for charity,” he told the captain beside him, voice quiet but carrying. “If they’ve come this far north on foot, they’ve either nothing to lose… or something to hide.”

The captain only nodded and barked orders.

The strangers were brought forward — mercenaries, wanderers, and nameless souls, drawn together by chance or misfortune. Faces foreign, accents thick, and clothes ill-suited for the northern cold. Whatever brought them here, they had arrived at the edge of the world.

From above, the Bastion itself loomed — layers of black stone, timbered roofs heavy with snow, chimneys coughing thin smoke into the pale dawn. The banners that hung from its towers were stiff with frost, bearing the mark of a lantern wrapped in thorns, the sigil of its ruling house. Beneath those colors, every wall and every man carried the same quiet exhaustion.

The people of Rotia knew what the freezing sea meant. The long winter had come early. And when the ice reached the horizon, the monsters would follow.

For now, there was only the wind and the pale light, the distant thump of a hammer somewhere in the forges, and the gaze of a young heir watching a handful of strangers in the snow.

Character: Bromann Dudemiester
Status: Possibly frostbitten

The Snow crunched beneath his boots as he walked. Despite the long trek, his feet no longer ached like they did in the first quarter of his journey. He had walked further distances before but the cold was something new to him and its chill crept deep into his bones. Yet Bromann was not one to complain, After all he had chosen this path himself. The quaint little town he grew up in had few opportunities for one of his ambition, or was it even his own? He hadn’t put too much thought into it prior, but in this last stretch of his journey he found his mind grasping at anything to distract from the deep chill that his grey wool cloak and brownish wool clothes did so little to resist.

He had come to realize that his desire for fame and recognition might well come from his bloodline. After all Great grandpappy Dudemiester was a great man. Founder of their town, with a statue in the square. With the town beginning to Fall on hard times he could feel their eyes on him. Townsfolk who grew up hearing legends of the First Dudemiester looked to the last one for some form of relief from their dying town. It wasnt like they were suffering from raids or plagues…just irrelevance, a town off the beaten path with nothing to catch the eye of a weary traveler, save for a small inn and Tavern.

His musings were cut short by the creaking of the massive gates. Iron hinges shattering the ice that had accumulated on them. “Thank the Heavens…i reckon we could all use a meal and a spot by the fire, doncha think?” he would say to his fellow travelers without waiting for a reply, eagerly he would step through the gates perhaps a tad too eagerly as he wound up finding himself one of the closest to the business end of a pike. “Whoa there, easy now. I aint lookin for no trouble.” He would say to the nearest guard, though serious as the situation seemed he could not seem to get the smirk off of his face. It had always been a problem, he smiled when nervous, and his pa had always told him it would be the death of him one day. He just hoped it wasnt gonna be today.

Character: Andrea Ashmourn
Status: "Alive"

The cool winter breeze lifted Andrea's hood from her head as her ears twitched in annoyance. A slight shudder escaped through her clenched teeth as her ruby eyes landed on the walls of the bastion. For a moment, her body joined the winter as she became frozen in thought. The walls of civilization promised a safter world for those who rest behind it. A beautiful lie wrapped in wonderous hope, but rot resides in the most trusting places. Andrea knows this better than most, as she fell for the same lie. However, something much stronger than fate led her to this place with a different promise besides safety behind decaying walls.

Slowly the cold snapped her trance. A gasp escaped her lips as she shuddered a little louder as her body shook for a moment. "By the hells below, how can anyone stomach this kind of cold?" Andrea growled in freezing annoyance as her shoes crunched the snow below her as she followed with the group. Using her tattered cloak to cover her grimoire as she pressed forward, keeping a watchful gaze on the guards with a curious look before hearing one of her associates speak of a fire.

"Yes! Anything besides this blasted cold. I swear if there isn't a fire in the near future I-" Andrea clenched her fist as she could just picture the promised of warmth. Like a lover's embrace to just sit, relax and- "Of course." Andrea groaned with dismay as she eyed the pike towards the happy wanderer. She glanced around for a moment feeling the eyes that surround them she dismissed the idea.

"Do you always wear that daring smile of your in the face of peril?" Andrea asked, half dead and curious. Eyeing the little smirk he wore on his face. Her arms remaining crossed but keeping a watchful eye.

Character: Rachel Backe
Status: Weak

The girl who sat alone in the farthest corner of the wagon had been silent the entire ride, quieter than the silence of conversations ended. Her hands were held together in a prayer but her lips read no word, only the shuddering of her breath being her only obvious sign of life. She'd thought the coat that covered her entire top half in thick white fur or even the strange new warmth inside her body would be able to protect her from the cold, but the road was nothing but rocks and snow for hours and her body was exceptionally weak. Still, her hands tightened around each other to stop the shivering, not quite sure what she was praying to but her hope focused nonetheless.

It was not until the rocking stopped that she finally lifted her head, a glimpse of her soft pale face flashing from under her hood. Rachel wasn't aware there was progress to begin with, but before she knew it, they'd already arrived at a destination and the wagon renewed with life. She overheard the talk spurred by the two other passengers beside her but remained hesitant to chime in, merely clinging her coat closer to herself and following their footsteps without so much of a hum.

The size of everything intimidated her without a doubt, her slight dizziness not helping her case. She wasn't much shorter than the rest, but nothing here was familiar to her. Her eyes drifted warily from one direction to another, scanning each person with a hint of anxiety.

Her ears then picked up the noise around her, prompting her to look at Bromann, someone even less equipped for the climate they were in, as he was talking with Andrea. At first, she didn't really think much of his sense of humor, but seeing how it had persevered past the cold and still remains visible now, somehow, it helped her feel a bit better--made her seemingly permanent frown crack into a brief smile of her own even.

Character: Bromann Dudemiester
Status: Starting to feel feet again…wishing he wasnt.

Bromann would keep his hands raised in a placating manner as he slowly stepped back with the rest of the groups. His ears would seem to perk up and his head would tilt slightly as he heard one of the other travelers speak to him. The group hadnt really spoken much as they crossed the snowy road to the fortress. He just assumed everyone else was dealing with the discomfort of the situation in their own way. “Not quite sure yet Ma’am, ill let ya know when i have a little more peril under my belt.” He would say with a slight chuckle. He would scan the gathered travelers and note that each of them seemed just as chilled as he was. His eyes fell upon the other girl there and spotting her little grin he would give a nod of acknowledgment.

His eyes would continue their wandering noting the guards weary expressions, those poor souls seemed hopeless, as if they knew that this bitter cold was not the worst thing to come. Despite the sense of foreboding, he almost couldnt hell himself saying “Geez, you fella’s look like i feel.” He chuckled. Continuing his wandering eyes he would finally come to rest on one of the only people who didn’t quite look as tired…at least not physically. It did not take him very long to identify him as the man in charge.

“Hey! You gonna leave us here to turn into icicles? Or do ya have somethin ya wanna say…my feet are killin me and im sure the rest of us feel the same.” He would say hoping his bold words would not land his ass in a cell, or worse, sent to the beyond where he was positive his Ma would chew him out for not having manners and getting himself killed.

Character: Thorne Briers
Status: Serene. In his element. Sort of.

One would think, given his magic's close affinity to ice itself, that the element would see fit to treat him a little more kindly.

Such was the nature of the thoughts that ran through Thorne's head during the seemingly endless trek to Fort Bael's walls. Snow crunched under his weathered boots as he put one foot in front of the other, mindlessly following the disjointed group of travelers' movements. While his thoughts and attentions had long flown off to distant, more agreeable places, an awareness lingered about him all the same; the sort that felt like a bowstring always ready to bend, always ready to let loose a spell or an arrow at the slightest sign of things going south.

Luckily — or perhaps unluckily, depending on how one saw it — all the travelers around were far too fatigued to move in anything more than a state of perpetual silence, each locked in a tomb of their own thoughts. Occasionally, there would be a murmur, a whispered prayer, some sign of a traveler talking to themself (for who else could they speak to, solitary wayfarers that they were?); yet such things were swiftly swallowed up by the biting chill and wind that wound around them all.

Thorne tilted his head back, looking at the skies above. Vast, clad in the gray banners of winter, merciless and sharp as steel. He'd been found beneath the gaze of such skies, his father had told him. A miracle. A child favored by the cruel breath of winter itself.

The wind stung at his cheeks. The cold felt like it was burrowing deep into his bones. And yet — even then, he felt that tingle of power. His magic, coursing just beneath his skin, brimming with an energy that sung and delighted in the merciless chill. More, it seemed ton say. More...

If fire could burn to ashes, could ice crystallize till it was no more? Refine itself so meticulously that its very body turned to naught but ashes to be lost in the snow?

...

Thorne lowered his eyes.

The gate was opening.

A man, one who appeared to have spirits that rivaled the stubborness of the cold, got into a bit of a predicament upon accidentally agitating a wary guard, but the incident passed without fuss; it hadn't dampened the aforementioned man's dogged humor, at least. That seemed to liven up the crowd somewhat, if only a little. Scanning the surrounding people, Thorne took note of the weariness that cloaked every single guard that watched them with wary eyes, before his gaze shifted to a man who, even in his pensive silence, possessed a demeanor that was reminiscent of a leader holding court before his people. Young. Clear-eyed. Alert. This was an heir who had yet to chafe underneath decades of ruling.

Right on time, the traveler who'd had a close run-in guard's pike earlier spoke up, boldly addressing the person Thorne had determined to be the young heir of Rotia. He spoke directly, without scruples; he looked straight at the heir without fear. Despite himself, Thorne's brows shot up in both amusement and amazement.

At that moment, he had a thought that most likely went through the heads of all the other people in the area: How the hells had this man survived for this long?

Character: Andrea Ashmourn
Status: Praying for a fire

Andrea's eyes widen slightly towards the Happy wanderer with her eyebrow cocked. "Ma'am?! I am not that old; I am not even close to my century." Andrea groaned as her ears shook shaking the snow off her ears. For the moment she held herself tighter around the cloak, refusing to let the warmth escape her cloak. " Just, call me Andrea. It's better than ma'am." Andrea offered a quick and simple smile but cut it short as her teeth let out a loud chatter again. She quickly wrapped herself with her cloak and shook her head glancing around to the other travelers then to the guardsmen. Noting their tried faces and behavior. Seemed like no one was used to the rabid cold, not even those who are prepared.

Andrea eyes wondered back to Bromann with a slight sigh and immediately facepalming. It wasn't the wisest of decisions newcomers make, especially with the uneasiness that most if not all the guardsmen wear so openly. Andrea continued to watch the happy wanderer draw attention to himself, trying to find answers for their current 'Situation". Andrea glanced towards Rachel the quiet girl. A little curiosity wondered if she was still kicking. However, seeing that brief little smile caused by the foolish man. It gave her some answers that brought a little warmth. "Glad to see his joy spread somewhat to you da'len." Andrea offered a small smile towards her.

Immediately she turned towards the happy wanderer with her eyes fully wide. Seeing his bold approach towards the one in charge froze her breath for a moment as she looked up towards the noble with a headshake. With a grumble while her fingers rested on the bridge of her nose. "Great... Attention of a noble. Exactly what we wanted." Andrea remarked as she glanced towards the noble once again speaking up. "Pardon his eloquence. The journey and the cold does take a toll on some. Just like us he wants a good fire in our near future." Andrea offered a slight diplomatic smile. Keeping her tattered cloak wrapped around her as she spoke before backing up slightly towards the Wagon. Joining the others as she shook her head.

Rachel quickly nodded her head to Andrea, flashing another smile at her, stiffer this time. With a clear look at her face, one can see she's trying to hide her expression of uncertainty in an attempt to fit in as she continued to stick close to the group, hands fidgeting.

She looked to the heart of the settlement where the apparent noble stood the moment others turned their attention to it, her eyes no longer looking somewhere else entirely for once. The noble, the man who'd been watching them, seemed important and of power as far as she could tell, and she's never felt quite right with gaining attention from someone of authority for whatever reason it may be. Her first thought would be to wonder what she did wrong this time, for all she knew, she was somewhere she shouldn't be---something she knew very well the moment she found herself on this cold land but can't control.

Her mouth opened, perhaps to form a hasty apology, only to be interrupted by her more lively companions. She seemed a bit relieved however, it looked like her work was cut out for her.

Character: Axol, The Unworthy
Status: In need of food and ale.

Axol couldn't recall how many times he had fallen asleep on the wagon, waking now and then in a brief state of panic and rummaging to see if something had been nicked from his pockets and throwing accusatory glances before falling asleep again. He couldn't even tell which of them were dreams, though there was one instant where he awoke to find himself surrounded by humanoid alligators.

That one was definitely a dream, because he knew that alligators can't breathe on land. Well, that's what he knew, at least...

The clinking of heavy chains and the low moans of the Bastion gates did wake him, and he soon found himself walking half-asleep alongside the other travelers before being halted by guards. He rubs his eyes and looks up, his hood falling behind his head as he stands still, witnessing the tall and cold structure that looms over them, suddenly feeling small. It was a feeling he did not like. Axol has no idea where he is in the world right now. He came in the promise of a wealthy employer that needed his talents in exchange for gold.

All he really needed to hear was "gold." Leave it to the gods to help him find his way back.

The winds were harsh against his skin, his armor doing little to keep him warm, but it seemed that his companions were a lot less used to harsher climates, save for one of them, clad in fine clothing akin to a lordling who appeared to be one with the chilly breeze. Axol kept quiet with his arms crossed over his chest, taking brief mental notes of each of his companions. He slowly realizes that whatever rewards they'll be receiving might end up being spread too thin, given their numbers.

"Too many to share with..." He mutters to himself, albeit a bit loudly.

Some louder man with a bow began throwing jests, engaging in conversation with a pointy-eared woman who looks to be just a few minutes away from freezing up completely. Axol found himself chuckling at the sight of the archer nearly kissing the sharp end of a pike from one of the guards. He found it amusing to imagine; blabbering and being abruptly interrupted with a pike through the skull. "I don't know about a fire, but some ale and a hot meal would definitely fix me up." He remarks, nudging the quieter girl beside him as if they knew one another. "You don't happen to have some ale on you, do you?"

Before the meek lady could respond, Axol's eyes landed on the young royalty that stood before them; most certainly their employer. A grin slowly crept up on his cheeks. He recalls the last time a lord had employed him: a poor balding bastard sneaking away from his wife to meet with a mistress, and needed some muscle to secure the perimeter while they copulated in the woods. He was paid a fine sum. This young lord, however, seems to be troubled by more than just forbidden nocturnal activities- and the deeper the trouble, the better the pay. Though he wonders just how big an amount he's looking at, and more importantly, how bigger it'd be if there were fewer of them to share with in their ragtag group...

The courtyard was alive with motion — boots crunching, voices echoing, breath steaming in the bitter air. The newly arrived travelers stood in a crooked line beneath the shadow of the wall, a strange assortment of frostbitten limbs and stubborn hearts.

The guards watched them like wolves watching other wolves. Suspicion, not hostility. In Rotia, both were often the same thing.

The guards all chuckled lightly at the banter between the strangers. But it was quickly silenced at the sharp sound of their young lords voice.

“You’ve the look of those who’ve walked too far for comfort,”Said Lord Roderic, voice carrying across the courtyard. “You’ll find no tavern warmth here, not for free. Still—” He paused for a moment, letting his icy gaze flick across those gathered.

“—a fire and a meal can be earned, if you’re willing to work for the Bastion.”

His gaze lingered on Bromann’s grin. A faint, reluctant smile ghosted across his own lips — there and gone again.

“That one at least still remembers how to laugh. Hold onto that. You’ll need it before long.”

He turned to Andrea next, nodding slightly.

“Your friend speaks true enough. The cold dulls manners faster than fear. You’ve my pardon, all of you — for now.”

He studied the rest — the scholar’s faint tremor, the mercenary’s greedy eyes, the mage’s serene detachment. Every one of them a gamble. But then, everything in Rotia was.

Roderic motioned to the gate captain.

“See them quartered in the lower barracks. Feed them, warm them, and find out if their hands are steady enough to hold a spear. We’ll need every arm we can get before the next moon.”

The captain hesitated. “Before the next moon, my lord?”

“You’ve not seen the sea,” Roderic murmured, eyes drifting past the wall. “The ice is forming already.”

That drew silence. Even the guards looked away, as though afraid the very mention of it might summon what waited beyond the horizon.

As the travelers were ushered toward the barracks, the faint clang of a distant bell broke through the morning air — once, then twice. A warning from the western watchtower. Too soon for an alarm, too deliberate for routine.

A runner came stumbling across the yard, breath fogging violently as he bowed low before Roderic.

“My lord—! The scouts from the western ridge… they haven’t returned.”

The young noble’s jaw tightened.

“How long?”

“Three days past when they were due, sir. We sent a search party yesterday. They’ve not come back either.”

The wind moaned low against the walls. Somewhere beyond the city, a flock of black birds rose suddenly from the treeline, circling once before vanishing into the gray sky.

“Bring the council to the upper hall,” Roderic said at last. “And double the watch on the west. If the ice is forming this early, we may have visitors sooner than we’d hoped.”

Character: Bromann Dudemiester
Status: Silently Judging everyone

Bromann’s Grin deepened into a full blown smile at the mention of the barracks. It seemed he did have some manners to him because after hearing Rodricks words he would actually bow slightly to the lord. “You milord, have got yourself a deal.” He we would say with enthusiasm. He would pivot on his heel to face the other adventures his movements seeming to balk in the face of his previous complaints, cold as he was he seemed much less stiff than moments ago.

“I call first pick on the beds.” He would proclaim. His Gaze sweeping across the fellow adventurers. He was already forming profiles for each one in his head. The big guy with the sword, had slept most of the way and sounded like a gruff and confident type. Something told him that they wouldnt have too much in common, ‘should probably keep my foot out of my mouth with that one, i like my head where it is.’ His gaze continued to the other man in the little party, He was dressed rather light and seemed to be handling the cold better than the rest of them,yet had no visible weaponry. ‘probably some kind of mage…any form of combat would likely center around his abilities, might want to befriend him. Maybe he could show me a trick or two.’

Finally his gaze would circle back to the two women of their group who seemed to congregate together. ‘Well Andrea seems to be in good spirits…even tried to cover my ass for me, maybe i should try to make that job a little easier…’ he had a hard time prying his eyes away from hers, something about that crimson hue made him equal parts intimidated and intrigued. Finally his sweeping assessment would come to rachel. ‘Ah. This one seems the least ready for a fight…but I’ve been wrong before. Hell i usually am, gonna have to keep an eye out for this one’

His assessment was quick, not quite a long awkward gaze but it was fairly obvious to any with half a brain what he was doing. He was sizing them up. Once the captain had made his way down from the balcony with his lord…well he supposed the man was all of their lord now. He would pivot back to face the oncoming captain calling over his shoulder. “Well come on Then, I reckon we aught to get warmed up and properly acquainted with our new home dont you?”

Character: Andrea Ashmourn
Status: So close to a bed. Yet so far.

Andrea eyed the noble for a moment, inspecting his tone, posture, and the way he addressed the happy wanderer. It was clear to her that this noble was somewhat different and currently dealt with a similar situation she faced before. Andrea’s ruby eyes focused on the walls for a moment, longer seeing the stone that joined hands with the frost. The guards that believed themselves to be wolves, loyal to the one that rules over them. Yet it seems they haven’t rid themselves of the monsters that howl at their walls if they are relying on the trust of desperate travelers to fight for the idea of ‘home’.

A little sigh passed through her lips, as the noble was forgiving in his own pompous way. Andria gave one glance towards Bromann with a careful watch. How many times had he gotten away with addressing nobles as such? It was something honest and admirable if you wanted to see chains around your wrist, yet it was something to be admired in his own foolish way. Andrea shudders softly, keeping her cloak as she nods her head to the noble. “Thank you for your kindness, your lordship.” Andrea offered a small bow, before turning away with her jaw clenched tightly. Be it from cold or bowing, who could say for sure?

Yet, her eyes immediately widened with curiosity as her ear twitched again at the mention of ice forming and glanced towards the weary faces turn away from the mention of the ice forming. That was their own monster that they faced. As she watched carefully, she heard the bell rings from the distance, never a good sign and even the omen birds fluttered from the safety of the trees from something approaching. A small hint of green shimmered in her eyes for just a moment. Her hands rested on her grimoire as whisper became louder in her mind. “That is what we came for Andrea.” The voice echoed, slithering deeper into her mind before the glimmer faded away as she snapped out of her trance as the happy wanderer made his quick assessments and shouted his claim for the beds.

“That tired, are we?” Andrea questioned with a slight eyebrow raised, yet it was all in good jest. At least that is what she hoped it came off as. However, as the silence passed, she locked eyes with Bromann, clearly sizing everyone up in an interesting way. Even for a moment she shook her head softly. “Careful, I don’t want to be responsible for any funny ideas that reside in your mind Nhen.” Andria eyed him with a guarded look. Yet, he did have the right idea. No one was stabbed during the wagon trip, that normally meant a good sign even for strangers. Though if they would be working together for a short time well, stabbing and trusting for a little while won’t be enough.

“Well, I agree with him. Fire would be my little version of the heavens.” Andrea fantasizes a warm fire calling out her name as for once there would be something solid that didn’t move. It would be a nice little respite and offer some time to make some hot stones.

"...I don't drink alcohol."

For the very first time since you've seen her at the wagon, Rachel spoke up. Her voice was soft and low, but just loud enough to reach Axol's ears as they moved.

"I don't partake in such things that lead to sin."

Nothing more, nothing less. She gave him a glance as she said this, the emotions from her face were unreadable, whether she was being judgmental or otherwise. But one thing to take from this brief exchange, she was serious.

Upon entering the premises, Rachel let down the hood of her coat and immediately began to hustle on no command, looking around her surroundings with a pointed gaze. The difference in the heat was small, barely noticeable especially due to her own bodily heat that felt like a faint ember beating in her chest, but the moment she stopped freezing, her stance changed completely as though the new warmth had reinvigorated her. She started her routine by tidying up what would be her own lodging first, picking up certain objects and placing them in strangely specific spots.

Should she be able to find the food she needed and take them, she would do so. Wherever the others would be hanging around, Rachel would have walked in with the food she brought and provided them to the table, her selection of which mostly being bread. An act of courtesy, perhaps a small open invitation to share at least something between her and the rest of them. Regardless of what it was, it was one done on her own terms. Otherwise, she did not pay much mind to whatever they could be saying, her eyes always drifting, barely making contact.

Once she was done, she then sought out the warmest spot to rest momentarily while still maintaining a close distance with the group, sitting closest to a nearby fireplace where she could hear the crackling of the wood burning and watch as she ate the bread she'd saved for herself.

Hidden from sight, her free hand patted at her waist where her belt was fastened on her body, feeling around and making sure that she hadn't lost anything important in her travel. Once she felt the wooden hilt of her precious tool, she stopped and her eyes returned to the flame in front of her.

Character: Axol, The Unworthy
Status: Hunger unsated. Thirst for ale unquenched.

Axol raised a brow at the quiet girl's response, interrupting his thoughts. He took note of the emptiness in her eyes and the felt weight in her words in spite of her merely whispering. After a few moments of contemplation, Axol concluded that perhaps she does not drink, and hence, does not grasp the concept of happiness. He only shook his head in pity before responding, "I pray the gods don't frown upon your sorrows, young lady. We all carry it in our hearts. Not me, though." It may have come accross as an insult, but the words were from his heart. Sarcasm is not a part of the swellsword's arsenal. Nor is socializing, unfortunately.

The young lord spoke and sang the singsongy tune of lord-talk, something that usually brings sleepiness into his bones, but the man gave promise of food- and Axol hungers. There was also mention of training, and the visible discomfort of the guards at whatever they murmured about, which excited him even more. No mention of ale, though... Maybe they'll be offered wine? "I shouldn't drink around where the quiet one can see, though. Envy is a sin, after all." He thought to himself. Strangely, he noticed the air around him get colder when the alchohol-hating lady stepped away from him. Did the warmth he feel come from her? He did not know. Axol can only conclude that perhaps she is not interested in gold, which gave him some relief...

As they walked into the barracks, the archer proceeded to claim a bed of his own. Axol did not like this, giving him an annoyed glance; for he took the room the sellsword eyed first. However, Axol deems himself more mature than he used to be, and decided that he will not physically assault the archer for now. After accidentally walking into other people's rooms, he eventually found a vacant one to claim. He unsheathed the greatsword strapped onto his back and letting it fall to the ground with a loud thud that shook the whole room. "I keep forgetting how heavy this thing is." He chuckles to himself as he took off his armor. The thought of questioning the other travellers on how they'll split the share suddenly came to mind, and wondered if the rest of them even cared about gold.

A question for later... Now, he must search for the food that was promised.

Axol took his time walking through the halls looking for the dining area, the dim light from the torches igniting memories that he did not wish to think about. Thinking is not Axol's profession. Fighting is much more fun when he can break his enemies' bones, less so when the enemy is just voices from a distant past. After roaming around and cursing at one guard for ignoring him, he happens upon the archer's room. He stands there for a moment, just looking directly into his eyes...

"Did you get your food yet?" He asks, "I haven't gotten mine. The guards are deaf, won't tell me where we're supposed to eat." He shakes his head in genuine frustration, not grasping the concept of being ignored. "What foolish lord employs deafs for guards?" He walks in, uninvited, though not really asking for an invitation. "But then again, losing one sense does heighten the others... I know of a blind beggar who caught every rock I threw at him. Damn, I forgot his name..." He then just sits there on the floor, unwelcome and completely lost in his own thoughts, his hunger momentarily forgotten as he struggles with recalling the name of some random beggar.

Character: Andrea Ashmourn
Status: In heaven.

Andrea followed the captain with the others, making small little notes in her mind about each of the strangers. Once inside the barracks a gasp of relief opened her lips and closed her eyes just to feel the promise of warmth that surrounded her. “Finally… Fire and warmth.” Amdrea smiled softly as she glanced around the untaken beds and shook her head. Taking none of them as she laid her satchel against the wall near the fireplace. With a simple movement she took off her tattered cloak and knelt at the fireplace alongside Rachel.

Andrea begins to work, ripping some of the tattered cloth into long strips into five lines. Grabbing the fire poker to free up a little room, grabbing her satchel to pull out some of the stones and tossed them near the fire. Folding her cloak made a small mental note how much usage the cloak had before it finally became useless. As her cloak sat beside her she glanced towards the fire place offering her hands to the warmth as she settles in.

“I hope you don’t mind if I take some room from you da’eln.” Andrea’s ruby eyes glanced towards Rachel seeing her being lost in the fire. Unsure if the girl even spoke, yet that didn’t stop her from continuing her preparations. She fixed her belt that held her grimoire letting it rest a little as she rubbed her hands together slightly, flipping the stones every now and then and passing the warmth from her hands and onto her arms as she sighed happily, her ears twitch in response.

Character: Rachel Backe
Status: Warming up, feeling fine.

Rachel took note of the footsteps approaching her, snapping out of her short moment of calm and shifted her body ever so slightly to face Andrea, "...O-Oh. Of course." Her voice raised to a more regular volume, although still maintaining a tone of reluctance to them. Having relaxed and opened her coat a bit more, the color on her person had flourished into more than just white now with her blonde hair and amber eyes illuminating the soft light of the flame.

Her thumbs fiddled for a long minute before she finally took a long breath and opened her mouth to speak.

"I... apologize for my silence earlier. I was lost in my own thoughts back there. I found a basket of bread and thought the rest of us would like them for the night, it should be on the table if you need one." She gestured towards the table behind them where the aforementioned basket was before catching a glance at the quarters for a second where she saw Axol lumbering about, a glint of suspicion in her eyes.

All these people she'd just moved in with, she'd never seen their likeness before and never with such differences. Even with Andrea, she's keeping her at an arm's length. Back home---or at least what used to be home---she'd wake up to white garments and lilies, walk down the hill by the ranch of sheep grazing under the radiance of sunlight, and her neighbors would greet her every morning with the same big smiles and bouts of cheerful laughter that lasted until bedtime.

In stark contrast, she had just got out of the freezing temperatures in the fog---she never thought she'd hate snow so much in her first time seeing it in person---and finally finding some semblance of a shelter only to be met with weathered stoic faces that intimidated her to no end, her nose to be assaulted with a completely foreign smell of molten metal and not to mention the signs of danger to come. She was well aware that it wouldn't be long before she'd be forced to defend herself, after all a soothing voice she could never see but always hear in moments of fear always reassured her that his (if it even was a he) fire could protect her somehow.

But she also knew better than to simply stay on her lonesome from her own experience, safety in numbers, so she simply kept the same stiff smile on display and turned back.

"In my family, whenever we have new neighbors, we'd gift them with a basket of newly baked bread buns as our way of welcoming them," She stared into the fireplace in reminiscence, "Often we'd tie it up with a white bow as symbol of our community. It wasn't the same here, but I'd hope the message got across anyway, haha." Despite her attempts at a more lighthearted chat, it's clear that she's still recovering from the cold that wore her down exponentially throughout the journey.

She bit down on her own bread again, chewing and taking in the dough's dense texture. Her favorite food, as plain as it was, it's about the only thing that brings her comfort in this place that was so far away from whence she came. It, along with the fire keeping her warm, was the only reason she was even able to push past her own nervousness to talk to anyone.

"You've been quite kind to me. My name's Rachel." She looked at Andrea.

Character: Andrea Ashmourn
Status: Enjoying peace while stating her curiosity.

Andrea offered a tiny smile of kindness, followed by an appreciative nod towards Rachel. Continuing to work on the hot stones, pulling one out to feel the heat every now and then before casting it back to the fire. Seeing how the woman had some more color besides white, it did bring her some joy that the woman was indeed alive and well like the rest of them. Just shy.

“No need to apologize, Da'len. Most times, silence is a boon when trying to adapt. I just wanted to see if you are still with us in the world of the living.” Andrea glanced towards the bread for a moment before her gaze returned to the fire. “That’s thoughtful of you, I’ll get mine once everyone has their fill. Besides, I rather not get in the way of a feeding frenzy.” Andrea slightly teased as she gestured towards Bromann and Axol. “Still, thank you. Food is always a welcome change of pace.”

Andrea kept a little smile, her hands outreached towards the fire as she felt the heat radiate and spread across her body like a much needed embrace. Stretching her arms until a sudden pop echo from her joints. Finally, a time for momentary peace. To sleep, eat or do whatever they want until it’s time to prove their worth, or until a monster slams against the walls. Whichever comes first and causes the most desperation. Recounting her previous thoughts about each of the travelers.

They were all different but had the common purpose of the bastion. Though they might want a home, Andrea wanted whatever monster that lurked outside of the walls. Her ruby eyes glanced at the stones after a good minute or two, and began to let them cool off a little. Everyone prefers the cold instead of burnt hands. Andrea focused on Rachel for a moment seeing her slowly adapting to the world around her. Knowing some semblance of that life.

However, Andrea knew this cold world for the longest time. Hell’s she was born in it, to feel the cold chain on her neck and the eyes of twisted smiles. Andrea shook her head, this time. This time she can do something. “You played it smart. It’s a good idea to look around and keep your lips shut. That one got lucky with the noble.” Andrea glanced towards Bromann with a dismissive shake of her head. Indeed he was foolish and lucky but maybe there was something more inside that thick head of his.

Andrea’s eyes returned towards Rachel, before a small laugh with her hands over her lips before nodding a little. “Food is always a good offering. Especially towards desperate mouths and eager lips. Though I would say it was a smart call. They might’ve eaten a little of it.” Andrea offered a slight joke before tilting her head to the left and offered a small bow of her head. “A little kindness goes a long way, and it’s a pleasure to meet you, Rachel. I am Andrea.” Andrea carefully wrapped one of the stones in her tattered fabric before setting the stone next to Rachel for her to grab.

“So, you offer gifts to your new neighbors. Well, I hope your neighbors return the kindness.” Andrea asked before working on the others making sure, they are tied tightly. “It’s not as good as bread but should keep you warm for a few hours or more. Then place it near the fire again to restore some warmth back to the stone.” Andrea taught with a slight glance towards Rachel before returning focused on the other stones. “So what other benefits did you and your family offer towards new neighbors? You piqued a little of my curiosity Rachel.”

Character: Bromann Dudemiester
Status Being a Bro man…

As the entourage made their way towards the warmth bromann chuckled aloud at Andrea’s comment. “Dont worry lady Andrea, im not a man known for his ideas.” He would quip then fall in line behind the captain as they were led to the barracks. Immediately the warmth of an enclosed space with smoldering coals in a few braziers washed over him like a wave. “Mmmmm now this…this is lovely.” He would mutter taking long strides to the bed in the far corner of the communal room, away from the door and near one of the braziers. He would shed his cloak and boots quickly enough that one could miss it if they looked away for even a moment. Shedding the bow and quiver a bit more carefully, leaning them in the corner of the room ear his cots head. Afterwards he would plop into his cot like a sack of potatoes letting out an exaggerated sigh of contention.

He sat watching the new cohorts as they dispersed to their respective places. The ladies gathering near the fire. Andrea seemed intent on pulling the other girl out of her shell which earned a slight nod of approval from bromann though neither would see it from his position behind them. His attention snapped to his left where Axol had shed his sword with a thunk that sounded more like a dresser falling causing Bromann to arch an eyebrow. Then the guy spoke and a mischievous smile began to spread across Bromann’s face. “No not yet, i think they plan on bringing us something in a bit.” He would say sitting up in his cot to look the man in his eyes. “So, who are ya? What brings you here?“

He would rest his forearms on his knees and lean in as a sign of obvious interest. “Personally im lookin for some gold, and to add to my name,you strike me as someone more interested in the former than the latter.” He would say. Part of him was concerned that he might anger the man, but another part of him, as foolish as he was curious definitely won out, he liked to think it was fearlessness or at least bravery. Yet he knew deep down it wasnt something he could attribute to himself alone, his mother was the same way, and despite her fate, he had no intentions of ever changing that aspect of himself.Hearing Andrea mention keeping his lips closed he would grin but make no comment.

Character: Axol, the Unworthy
Status: Curious, but still hungry.

The archer's response quickly snapped Axol out of his trance, though he was getting close to remembering the beggar's name. He squints his eyes, trying to see what the archer is playing at... "I am Axol." He replies, though there was suspicion in his tone now. No sellsword would ask for another sellsword's name unless they were about to deliver the finishing blow. "Just Axol. Though, they've branded me as the Unworthy..." He looked over his shoulder, eyeing his greatsword which still lays flat on the ground, remembering things again... He shakes his head, turning back to the archer who now laid his intentions bare.

"Gold, eh?" His brows furrowed. "So am I. Gold and a good bloody fight." He starts to scan the room again, eyeing each of the other travellers carefully. "A fashionable lordling who I'm sure has more than enough gold, a quiet alchohol-hating lady, and a pointy-eared woman... Based on what we're looking at, it seems that only you and I are interested in the bounties. That's good." He lets out a hearty laugh, his voice booming throughout the barracks. "I am relieved to know that I don't have to kill any of you along the way. A two-way split it is, then!" He declared, not even waiting for an agreement as he patted the archer's shoulder. "However, the pointy-eared woman still eludes me... I'm afraid I don't do three-way splits." His eyes darken once more, glaring at the aforementioned mystery with distrust.

"We must speak with her and ask. Also, the quiet lady has bread. I wish to eat some. Come." He gets up and walks toward the corner where the two women huddled, his stride enormous and his footsteps heavy, not even looking back to see if his companion followed. On his way, he eyed the chilly man whose sense of fashion Axol now envied. "You." He growled, pointing at the woman of unique complexion as he just stood there, his frame completely towering over them. Before he could continue, however, the aroma of bread invaded his nose, and found himself staring intensley at the bread basket. He had forgotten why he walked over here in the first place. "I am hungry, and you have bread." He declared. Asking nicely was not something that was taught to sellswords, but then again, most sellswords at least knew to fake politeness. If anything, Axol only asks nicely when it comes to alchohol.

Character: Thorne Briers
Status: Observing.

As the travelers dispersed across the barracks, a united sense of relief permeated the air. Warmth was a precious resource welcomed by everyone present, including Thorne; while his magic responded best to the cold, he did like being able to feel more than numbness. Silently, he moved forward and took a seat at the table, draping his cloak over his chair. Gray eyes scanned the room's interior before finally coming to rest on the table's scarred, worn-out surface. As the other travelers had gone off either searching for food, claiming their beds, or gathering near the fires, his immediate beeline for a chair before doing anything else was a bit strange.

In actuality, he was just tired. He didn't need to claim a cot — they were all the same, with their most distinct differences being their distance or lack thereof from the braziers and fires in the room. Given his constitution, that made hardly any difference to him. Might as well let others claim their beds while he rested his own feet.

His mind drifted back to the scene earlier: the distant clang of a bell, the hurried arrival of a scout. Scouts... western ridge... haven't returned... The way tension had bled into the young lord's face, jaw tightening in anticipation of something that loomed in the horizon.

He stared sightlessly at the table, at the cracks and scratches that decorated its surface. Among them, was an initial scratched into the wood. M. Was that being still alive, he wondered? Those that came before and those that came after; a neverending cycle.

This is a world of loss.

An echo of a memory came pushing forth, and that was when he knew that he gone far too deep into his thoughts again.

Someone approached. A girl: pale-faced, though touched with the warmth of the room — presence silent. She placed a basket on the table and left. No extra movements, no attempt at conversation made. Thorne took back his glance, gaze resting upon the basket.

Well. If someone was kind enough to bring food to the table, then he wouldn't put on airs.

He took a piece of bread from the basket. Rough, maybe a little dry, but warm. He took a bite and started chewing, idly listening to the din of the living around him.

Some of the travelers had seemed to take this rare moment of respite as an opportunity for light socialization. The woman with red eyes, with the pointed ears — Thorne had been taking note of her since a while ago. There was an intensity to her, lingering in her upright stance and her direct gaze, but her actions showed a care that, though measured, was undeniably real. Even now, she was conversing with the reticent bread-bearing girl, who looked to be responding positively to her attempts, even if a little reluctantly.

He had a good impression of people like her.

Voices rang from the cots as well. One was especially familiar: that of the spirited archer who always seemed to provoke some kind of trouble. He had been observing Thorne earlier. In fact, he'd been observing everyone in the group — he hadn't really made an attempt to hide it. He possessed the sort of optimistic openness that, while a tad enviable, could easily be vanquished by the horrors of the world. Thorne had seen it happen.

Far too many times.

(How would this man fare?)

Not that it mattered. Their paths would only cross for this short while.

The sellsword, the one bearing a greatsword, was conversing with the archer. Sort of. He'd plopped himself down on the floor at one point. Why he chose the floor and not one of the fair few cots available, Thorne didn't know. The content of their conversation... unbidden, a small smile spread across Thorne's lips, there and gone again.

A 50/50 split? How bold.

The sellsword was approaching, his heavy footfalls making no attempt to soften his presence. Thorne felt the other mans' gaze sweep over him, lingering on him for a moment before moving on. Idly, he wondered what he was looking at. The sellsword stopped before the crimson-eyed woman, frame towering over her, pointing at her with undisguised hostility.

"You."

A quiet tension seeped into the room. Thorne sat unmoving in his chair, lowering his eyes to the bread in his hands — listening.

A pause.

Then, he sensed a stare in his direction. Not at him, but... at the basket of bread.

"I am hungry, and you have bread."

...

Wry amusement flashed across Thorne's face. This time, it lingered.