"That is what I was told." Rachel nodded absently to what the elf said about desperate mouths and eager lips, easing into the conversation. "That's why the day after they come in, we would invite them to a family dinner. It was a special occasion each time, so many of us were expected to be there. I happened to be able to attend one for the first time last year."

The following question had herself piqued, there are many things that immediately came to mind but she shouldn't get too comfy giving out all the details at once. "It would be welcoming them as part of the family, of course. Our village near the mountains is a peaceful place, sometimes we call it a paradise. And we would all volunteer to show the newcomers around, offer them drinks and make them feel belonged, that by itself was the biggest joy of being part of our community..."

She paused in deep contemplation.

"Well, it has been a while, at least."

For a brief moment, a small frown formed on her face. With every strenuously picked word uttered as if she had been reciting them beforehand, it's becoming harder and harder to accept the distance between herself and her home. So much had happened, it's been nothing but a blur in her head, and though she's met a friendly face thus far, she doesn't expect things to truly slow down at any moment.

It's already hard to believe what led her here in this building to begin with and what came of it, her eyebrows strained with the subtle twitching of a storm of conflicted thoughts. She ultimately decided she'd continue to numb herself to the inner turmoil, staring deeper into the fire and nearly forgetting her surroundings, the half-eaten piece of bread still in her hand.

In the corner of her eye, she noticed Andrea setting down the wrapped stone beside her boots, her pointed gaze following it but made no other motion to pick it up nor did she say anything about it, not yet. While her manner of speech was pretty disarming, she's still practically a stranger, and she wasn't ready to accept anything given to her herself.

Then she overheard the sellsword's demands pulling her back to reality and whipped her head to look at the table where people are beginning to gather around the wicker basket. "Yes, we do. You're absolutely free to take one." She swiftly replied with the same punctual tone she used when asked about alcohol, though more proper this time now that she had somewhat replenished her energy. Whatever the chances that there may actually be a bottle or two in these barracks, in her opinion, any other option on the menu would do him a great favor, even plain old bread.

Character: Andrea Ashmourn
Status: Defensive.

Andrea listened carefully to the ideas of home, presented by Rachel. To Rachel's credit Andrea got a little envious. The ideas of community, a sweet desire like honey that made Andrea want more as she could simply picture it. Yet, reality quenched that desire until it was nothing more than liquid ash. Pointless and no longer needed, only replaced by the freezing and grasping hands of reality as she felt it on her neck. The screams of her village casting her out with such hate, were like her thoughts. Loud, wild, and cruel, but shortly lived as Andrea took a simple inhale glancing towards Rachel with a light smile as her fingers traced around her own neck to relieve some pressure. “I am glad. Sounds like a good community to belong to Da’len.”

Andrea’s ears twitched once more, hearing the heavy footsteps of one of the other travelers. The Adahl, that towered over her and growled only one simple word. Her ruby gaze hardened towards him as she slowly rose from the fireplace. Her arms crossed as she wasn’t the least bit intimidated by the Adahl. With a few looks up and down she studied the Adahl with a dismissive scoff as he talked about wanting bread. “She’s right. Bread is on the table Adahl. Though if you want to seem impressive, I wouldn’t recommend your stance. It doesn't radiate the same suledin that you think it does.” Andrea jested slightly, she saw better postures from shorter and leaner men, but much much crueler.

Andrea reached back down grabbing the other stones as she looked back at the Nhen and the Adahl, but mainly Adahl. “My name is Andrea. I would appreciate the simple courtesy of calling me by name if you would.” Andrea stated before moving past them towards the table as she laid out the other three hot stones for grabs as she gestured towards the two of them to grab. “There, hot stones are up for grabs if you desire it. Though I recommend that you don’t eat it Adahl.” Andrea gave a fake slight smile towards Axol before it quickly faded away. A little sigh escaped her lips as she glanced towards the smirking but otherwise well groomed man that sat at the table.

“Offer goes to you as well Somniar. Hot stones for grabs.” Andrea addressed Thorne with a curiousness in her eyes, not a single word this man had said and yet he was watching like a hawk. Smart on his part, refusing to play his cards but reading the faces of others. She gave him a knowing nod before venturing back to her satchel, quickly putting it on as she stared at the Mercenary. Taking a step towards him with her head tilted to the left as her ruby hue intently stared at him.

“What were you going to say Adahl? Before the allure of bread peaked your hunger. I am very curious on what a solasan like yourself was going to say to someone like me.” Andrea addressed Axol with an intense gaze as her fingertips tapped against her arm as she waited for his remark. “He would make a fine lieutenant, Andrea. Just look at him. Big and strong, and so obedient when there is gold or ale. In fact they all would be so… so perfect for your little plan darling.” The Sinister Voice echoed, her eyes flashed a bright green for a moment, but closed her eyes and shook her head. Ridding the idea that the voice wanted.

“No. Only monsters and those foolish enough to stop me. Currently he is just being what he is. Besides, We already found one. The monster that lurks outside the walls. Plus, it’s not like there are others like him. So stop it. You know the terms.” She argued back in her mind and slowly the voice resided and faded. She opened her eyes again still staring towards Axol but not as intensely as before. It was clear that she was uncaring to the words he would have to say to her. At least for now.

Character: Axol, the Unworthy
Status: Irritated and suspicious.

Axol nodded his thanks to the quiet lady, but before he could grab the entire basket and devour all of its contents without leaving any for the rest, the pointy-eared woman butts in, her crimson eyes gleaming with challenge and disdain. He finds himself flinching at "Adahl," somehow finding it more insulting than what she said about his posture. Who is this woman to so brazenly decide a new name for him? "I am not Adahl." He says through gritted teeth, his frown deepening as he tried his best to ignore the loud rumble coming from his stomach. "I am Axol. My mother gave me that name, and you will respect her wishes." He scoffs in disbelief. "Adahl... What a stupid name." He mutters, moving to grab a loaf of bread before shoving it in his mouth, chewing begrudgingly. Axol dislikes her now. He plop himself down on the floor again with a loud thud, arms crossed, trying to recall what prompted the pointy-eared woman to act so uncivilized. So painfully unaware of his own terrible manners.

Andrea, which was her name, moves to place hot stones on the table. His eyes lingered on the stones for a moment, thinking it was actually more food that was set on the table. He quickly snaps his eyes away from it as soon as Andrea makes an insulting remark about him being dumb enough to eat it. This was not true. Axol would lick it first to see if it tasted good enough- desperate times have driven him to eat far worse before... He swallowed the last bite of the loaf before turning to face the quiet lady. "You say you avoid sin?" He says to her with a passion, "Yet here you are, befriending a woman that evokes the sin of wrath. Calling me Adahl..." He shakes his head once more. The two rivaling forces lock eyes again as she strode towards him after offering the stylish lordling hot stones.

Andrea's question had him scratching his head; what was he going to ask her? He recalled quickly this time as he slowly got up to face the fiery spirit that tests his patience with every "Adahl" that escapes its lips. But just as he was about to speak, the woman's crimson eyes flashed green for a half-second. He tilted his head to the side. She hid it, before slowly opening her eyes again, though her glare seemed less resolute. Axol grimaced in confusion, a slight feeling of suspicion creeping in the back of his mind. "What are you here for?" He asks, his deep-blue eyes meeting the challenge in hers, his question sounding more like an accusation. "Me and the loud archer over there have both decided that if none of you object, the gold will only be shared between the two of us. It's best that we get this out of the way now, rather than have to shank one another out there... Though, I wouldn't mind that either."

Character: Bromann Dudemiester
Status: Shmeckledorfed

His eyebrow would arch In bemusement when he heard the Axol suggest a two way split on the profits of their labor. Bromann could hardly believe he would even suggest such a thing aloud in a room full of companions, but considering the man who spoke the words and what little bromann had gleaned from him the incredulity quickly faded. “Im not sure its going to work that way my friend.” He would say, but clearly he said it a bit too low, because by the time the words came out Axol was halfway across the room. Bromann was quick to rise after him tossing the blanket back on the cot and padding behind the Axol barefoot. Yet once they got there and Axol made his demands for the bread bromann would pinch the bridge of his nose. Clearly this grouping would be a tad more difficult than he anticipated. Where he was from people had much the same boldness, but tempered with manners and hospitality. Before he could speak up to try and run damage control, Rachel would answer Axol in the Affirmative and Andrea would rise with fire in her eyes and an edge to her voice.

With a heavy sigh he would place a hand on Axols Shoulder, a fix a pleading glance on Andrea. “My buddy here is just hungry, hunger can bring a man closer to a beast. Please forgive us both.” He would say hoping against hope that Axol could read between the lines of his comments. Getting adventurers to agree to forking over their share was a tall order already, no way in hell would they agree to it if contention was the starting point of negotiation. Normally Bromann wouldn’t give too much thought to coin, but the more he thought about it the more he realized he may well need it to save his town. “Thank you for the bread Lady Rachel…that was your name correct?” He would say trying to be polite but likely coming off as disingenuous, urban mannerisms and polite talk was as foreign to him another language.

Before they could move on to negotiations Axol brought up the gold and then Stabbing, and Bromanns head hung immediately as if he was struck in the back of it. “No one is going to be stabbing each other, no one who sleeps in these barracks at least.” He would say with a firmness in his tone. He was trying to keep the jovial tone so as to keep the peace in the room, but the twitch of his brow said that a nerve had been struck. “Can we just have a seat, eat, and discuss things like people who will soon have each others lives in each others hands? Because if the captains words and demeanor are anything to go off of we have our work cut out for us, and im not trying to get left alone on the wall because the mercenary band that was clearly called for a fight cannot seem to get on the same side of the battle lines.” His voice would raise and the usual lackadaisical tone was completely gone by the time he finished. He took a deep breath and snatched a bun from the basket taking a bite and closing his eyes, wether to soothe himself, or out of appreciation was hard to tell.

After taking the bun he would sit at the table beside thorne and gesture to the open chairs. “Comf onn, lefs Ffigir phis out.” He would say his last sentence muffled by a mouthful of bread.

Character: Andrea Ashmourn
Status: Holding back the urge.

Andrea continued to hold the gaze of the Adahl for a moment longer, however her pose became more relaxed. Leaning against her hip as her hands simply rest on them for a moment longer. She paused for a moment before shaking her head. “Adehl isn’t a name, Axol. Just a word for people that are similar to you. I always respect a mother's wish.” Andrea simply spoke as she took a small exhale before hearing the idea of invoking wrath. She simply narrowed her eyes at him before dismissing the idea. “I thought wrath was caused by the self. Not others. Then again, I don’t know your gods or goddess judgements.” Andrea watched him carefully before hearing his question. Then the threat of stabbings she scoffed simply and rolled her eyes.

“Oooooh I like this one! He would be a most helpful asset for us darling. Just imagine him causing mass slaughter left and right. I want him, Andrea.” Andrea clenched her teeth before glancing towards Adahl with a challenging glare towards him. “Not for the same reasons as you. I can assure you that much.” She pushed off of the wall taking a few steps towards him as the voice urged her to accept. “Stabbing one another for the lust of gold is beneath me Axol. It should be above you as well, after all. If you succeed in getting rid of me. You won’t be able to spend your gold behind iron bars. And If I would have succeeded… Well… I don’t want to win against you.” She paused for a moment taking a little breath before eyeing Bromann seeing if he was indeed part of this. Once she got the information she wanted she returned to Axol with her gaze softened slightly hearing Bromann’s speech.

“He's right.” Andrea spoke plainly as she glanced towards Axol with a slight nod while arms grasped one another, standing like an unbending wall.Yet she spoke a little softer only for Axol as her eyes slowly burned into the same green as before, but only letting Axol see. “I will assume you have a better nature then greed. Though cross me if you dare, I have some uses for a man of your talents.” Her whisper became a slight mixture of hers and something else more ethereal with a little smirk at the end before she backed out and her eyes returned the bright ruby and her small smile faded away quickly with a head shake.

“How about a little peace settlement? Once I am done with my purchases with my share of the gold, you can have my share.” Andrea returned to her normal speaking as she brushed off the little encounter with a little sigh as she walked towards the table grabbing her loaf of bread. Giving Bromann a small look of impressed and curiosity before offering her bread towards Axol. “You can have my bread as a little show of faith. Not as friends but as co-workers. Can we agree on that at least?”

Character: Rachel Backe
Status: A little more refreshed.

When Andrea stepped up towards the table to confront the sellsword, Rachel did not move to stop her or follow her in any way. She watched as a fight appeared to almost break out and turned her back to it. There's no reason to intervene, she doesn't think. Not just to save her energy, but in her mind, her priorities lie somewhere else.

She regarded the flame before her at length. Ever since she left, she was not able to access or find any signs of a fire until now, but the moment she stepped into the room, she felt the heat radiating from it draw her to it. The way it danced around vigorously within the stone walls that had contained it, kept it from incinerating everything else. It may have just been the exhaustion, but there was always a little something about it that stuck out to her. A vague shape barely forming with each lick of the flame, not something of particular form that she would have recognized. The only thing she could put her finger on, as far as she could see it, was that there's a presence. A presence only felt by her, watching but not quite stalking, not quite scrutinizing, but from afar without direct interference.

A feeling all too familiar to Rachel as realization washed over her face, she clasped her hands together, intertwined in the form of a prayer and began muttering something under her breath. When she finished, she saw the fire flare up for a split second, a few sparks flying far from their source in her direction then dispersing into nothing. Blinking back to the fireplace, the presence was no longer there, leaving her in slight awe of what she'd just witnessed.

There was communication and a quiet understanding between them, even if she didn't fully realize it at first. She always knew there may have been a benevolent entity or at least some form of sentience that watched over her and guided her in uncertain times, that in this fragile state, she would have died out in the cold if not for the similarly contained warmth thanks to this being. The small patches of doubt were beginning to seep in after the fact, but now she found clear evidence of its existence and a reassurance that she will stay blessed with its protection.

She gave the fire a single nod with hope and resolve rekindled before getting up on her feet, brushing the dust off her white dress and picking up the hot stone left for the taking. She then made her way through the room past the table, shooting a glance at Bromann acknowledging his thanks. She continued to withdraw from engaging with the rest of the group, but the fact that they accepted her greeting in the form of bread offering eased her worries ever so slightly, allowing her to peacefully retire for the night.

Character: Axol, the Unworthy
Status: Calmed but alert.

Axol's eyes never left Andrea's, even when the archer had spoken to de-escalate the rising tensions, even when she offered him a piece of bread. Then it was there again; the green in her eyes that had flashed before him now lingered intentionally. He couldn't help but feel a sudden thrill at her words, whether it was excitement for a potential employer or excitement for an inevitable fight, no one knew. What was clear was that Axol trusts this crimson-eyed woman much less now. He snatched the bread from her hand, agreeing with her treaty for peace. "Keep your spare change. Doubtless, you'll perish on the mission. I'll make sure to collect your bounty in your stead." He shoves the bread into his mouth, chewing furiously before swallowing with concerning speed as he keeps his glare on Andrea for a moment.

He then turns to the archer, whose mouth is still muffled by bread. He raises a finger. "Do not yell at me. I am sensitive." He said plainly, before leaning in to whisper something in his ear, "I do not know if you are in love with this woman, that you keep trying to impress her with kindness, but she is not to be trusted." Axol did not really know how to whisper; he just spoke in a breathy voice, but the volume remained loud enough to be audible to others. He walks off toward his chosen cot and picks up his greatsword, walking back to the table as he drags the heavy heap of metal beside him. He then sits himself on one of the chairs by the table, the wood creaking under his weight as he holds the massive blade, leaning his head against it. "The fashionable lordling and the quiet lady are yet to say their piece." He comments. "At this point, I may as well be doing charity work. I doubt the young lord will pay us a high price, anyway. Given how pitiful this keep looks." He scoffs. Axol doubts they'll use their gold for any good. He growls in frustration, now regretting even coming to this place.

Axol just sat there now, letting the others speak. He shot a glance toward Andrea now and then... "This one reeks of mystery. I do not like mysteries." He thought to himself, however, her fiery spirit was something that the sellsword could respect. It reminded him of his late wife- the only woman to tame an animal like Axol. But unlike his wife, the pointy-eared woman was unlovable. He did not like remembering things, but the memory of Aena was something he couldn't easily shake off. Oh, how she had changed him. How grateful his companions should be that he was not the man that he used to be. Five years have passed, and the hole she left keeps growing bigger and deeper. "Never mind that now..." He told himself, "She lives on in our boy." Suddenly, Axol musters the strength to regain his spirit, forcing a smile to himself. If the other travellers insist on keeping their share, then the sellsword will have to pray to Meldaron that his companions suffer a swift demise during their venture.

Character: Andrea Ashmourn
Status: Annoyed but in control

Andrea rolled her eyes, indeed the adehl was nothing more than meat on bones. She despised fools such as them, even when she was enslaved. These Adehl corrupted by greed and pride followed the ideal that might prove right. Flashes of chains echoed in her mind wanting to snap, to lash out, especially upon seeing how he shoved food in his mouth and the remark about how she would die, she growled glaring at Axol. “You are not the first to make that foolish claim. You won’t be the last either Axol Adehl.” With clenched teeth she moved on from him. Returning to the wall near the fireplace with clenched teeth and eyes closed. Maintaining her anger.

“Look at that. He is big, loud and foolish. It would be better if he was under our control Andrea. How obedient we could make him. Just imagined the possibilities of teaching this Adehl the lesson of fear.” The voice echoed in her mind; it wasn’t loud but how it echoed. It was another weight from her choices. The sole reason she was her, the creature. Andrea shook her head as she faced the wall whispering to herself. “Shut. Up. If he gets in my way, then you’ll have your little toy soldier to command and slaughter at your will. We are here because you want something out of the castle walls. That’s why we are here.” The voice stayed silent at the whisper of babbling before her throat closed up slightly before answering her.

“Perhaps I should end you now for defying me, Andrea. You don’t raise that tone with me. Understand?” She choked a little before nodding to herself, and the pressure released. She simply rubbed her throat and gathered her breath. “Good. Now go play nice for now. You have work to do.” Then the voice vanished as she fixed herself. Making sure there weren’t any indications of her little talk with herself as she leaned against the wall only arching her brow at the accusation of Bromann being in love with her. She dismissed the notion. Despite what she thought about Bromann herself. “He was simply stating the most obvious points of working together. He doesn’t need to trust me only that I will have his back when battle does come.” Andrea mentioned with her arms crossed with her shoulder leaning against the wall.

However, she did eye his great sword for a moment before shaking her head. If he gets injured, she might have to heal him, despite his urgings not to. He needed to live, for now at least. She looked around the keep before shaking her head. “I disagree. He has the money to improve his keep, but the weight of the people needing more safety will have to wait during the winter. Something or someone keeps attacking the walls. I assume that’s why he gives us food, fire and bed. We are extra numbers against whatever is outside of the castle walls.”

Andrea taught a little, sounding a little more at ease as she moved towards the door holding her chin a little before looking around the barracks before shaking her head. “Though if you prove yourself, I believe there would be a nice reward for killing the biggest one.” Andrea tempted Axol a little as she tried to picture whatever creature or person that lived outside of the walls. Knowing how desperate the people must be. Being reminded of her own little town, l before… Before Him.

Character: Thorne Briers
Status: Calculating

"'Fasionable lordling'?" A voice spoke up, then, one completely unfamiliar to the room and all its other occupants. Thorne's hands rested on the table before him, fingers stroking the warm surface of the hot stone Andrea had offered him. He had taken the liberty of taking it at some point; the warmth emanating from the stone permeated his palms. His voice was akin to smooth waters sliding over ice; neither cold nor distant, yet not warm either. "Is that your evaluation of me? I have to say, I'm quite flattered." his head tilted slightly, his eyes curving upwards in a manner that somehow felt harmless and assessing at the same time. "Indeed, it was remiss of me to keep silent for all this time; do forgive my carelessness." he raised his hand and placed it on his chest, then, a gentle salute that was typically seen as a respectful, if outdated, gesture of greeting. Then, bowing his head slightly, he spoke. "My name is Thorne Briers. I, like all of you, have come to stand in Rotia's chill with my own ambitions." at this point, he addressed everyone in the room, eyes resting on each face, including the pale-haired girl who was making her way past the table. "Sir Bromann speaks true. Our ambitions have brought our paths together, if only for a short while. It is best, then, that we cooperate with each other; no doubt if the young lord hears of blood being shed before the monsters even come to wage battle on Rotia's walls, he may be displeased enough to dock our pay, even throw us behind bars. I find the prospect to be rather unfortunate." Suddenly, his smile shifted, turning into something a little sharper, something sly and mischievous. "And Lady Andrea speaks true as well. There is great glory to be had in killing the biggest of the beasts that terrorize a city's walls. And with glory, follows gold." That wasn't always the case, but, well. That was a minor detail.

Character: Bromann Dudemiester
Status: Contemplating how to get away with murder.

Bromann could hardly believe his ears, Love? He hadn’t really put any thought into the concept. Throughout his life he had never had the time, by the time he was old enough to even factor that in he was busy maintaining the farm and trying to keep his father out of an early grave. When he inevitably failed that task, he took upon his shoulders the fate of his town. Then he found himself here in the cold. The look he gave Axol would have been a tad intimidating, if not for the color creeping into his face. “a desire to form alliances…is not a proclamation of romance.” He would say flatly, his Tell tale nervous grin seeming to indicate his acknowledgement that he was out of his depth trying to speak reason to what he was quickly discovering was an unreasonable situation. Here they were a small band of people who knew near nothing of one another, and he was trying to coax them into a united front. “Though perhaps it is a fools errand.” He would say in a lower tone stuffing his mouth with more bread in an effort to avoid speaking further.

Fortunately Andrea had her own words and she seemed to take the accusation in stride, not putting much weight in it. He could not help but notice she did appear a bit conflicted, but he could tell it had little to do with the words being said, and likely was a conflict of her own nature. ‘Perhaps he is right about not being able to trust her…’ he would think to himself noting the slight shifts in her eye color and the expressions on her face shifting, though that could easily be due to Axol’s words, something in his gut said more was going on and he wasnt sure that he actually desired to know what it was. His gaze shifted to rachel still seated near the flame and seemingly in prayer. It was not much of a surprise given her earlier comments about sin, so he shifted back to the conversation at hand…missing the flames response to her words.

The red in his face seemed to grow more prominent when he heard Thorne speak. “Please Thorne, im not a Sir. Just a simple farmer who hunts, trying to make himself into something more.” He would say having freed some space in his mouth and quickly filling it once more. He would then rise to his feet, not too quickly, but with clear purpose. “You all may discuss this further if you wish, i will take the twenty percent that is fair to me. Now if you’ll excuse me, i intend to get better acquainted with the fortifications of this fortress.” He would state with an uncharacteristic bitterness in his tone before wandering off towards his cot to fetch his bow, sling his quiver over his shoulder, and reaffix his cloak. Finally stepping back into his boots he would stride towards the door. “Just bear in mind, none of us get paid if we die here, or if the fort falls, or if the Lord dies. Before we discuss payment it may behoove us to find out what we face, and what we have to bring to bear.”

Thus Bromann stepped out of the barracks and back into the bitter chill. Hoping to find the Range, and walk the walls.

Character: Andrea Ashmourn
Status: uncertain.

Andrea turned towards the unknown voice, the silent but observant man. Another voice of reason, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “So the watcher finally speaks! And using the proper title to address us. However, it seems like he needs more with his assessments, how curious that almost everyone seems suspicious of one another. I wonder how they will react with our power Andrea.” The voice giggled a little before she dismissed the voice itself. Her ruby gaze returned to Axol fighting the urge to smile victoriously but gave him a small nod.

“Seems like our voice is unified. Besides, the kill on its own has its own reward. Imagine that part of the tale, painting you rather enticing and heroic. Who knows, maybe you will get free drinks if there isn't enough gold for you.” Andrea thought a little longer, holding her chin as she went on talking. Glancing towards Thorne with a curious look on her lips as she remade her assessment of the silent solacaron.

“A childlike archer that seeks endless glory, a troubled mercenary that's drowning in ale. A silent girl that seeks answers from a silent deity. And finally, the observing mage that is always planning. None of them will understand what we are, Andrea. Once you let me out, and you will. They will turn against you. Even the Adhel is suspicious of you. All it takes is one swift knife.”

Andrea glanced towards everyone that stayed in the room while the voice whispered. Even as Bromann left, the voice continued to whisper and giggled behind a veil of a sinister smile. Andrea shook her head, letting the voice sit in the shadows for a moment until it faded completely from her mind. Eyeing the cold door for a second.

“They won't. But it won't matter, it's not like we are staying forever in this bastion. I will not be another Protector. You wanted a monster. I will get your monster. But I can't do anything if you keep whispering.” She pleaded against the voice as she gazed towards the fire, her finger tapping against her arm for a moment before the feeling of the voice echoed for a moment, letting the small grimoire shimmer slightly before fading away. A small breath escaped her lips, a relieved one at least for now. Andrea glanced towards the door to the freezing outside before frowning.

“Bromann has a point. Monsters will be coming, the bells indicated trouble. Even if it hasn't shown up yet. Besides, I don't want to be too vulnerable to the cold.” Andrea remarked as she picked up her tattered cloak frowning a little. “I wonder if they have any fabric for me to use… I doubt it.” Andrea sighed disappointedly as she rambled to herself and fastened her cloak a little, grabbing one of the hot stones. Though she glanced towards everyone else. “Grab a hot stone if you are thinking of coming outside with me. It should keep you warm for an hour or so.”

Andrea grabbed a second one, the one that Bromann didn't grab before leaving. She walks out, shivering again as she put on her hood, her eyes to glowed slightly against her shadowed face as she begins to walk out; but mainly staring at the forest.

The night in the barracks was long — a restless, creaking quiet punctuated by the distant sigh of the wind against the shutters and the occasional groan of settling timbers. Even with the hearths burning low, the cold never truly left. It crawled in through the cracks, the way guilt or fear might find its way into a man’s thoughts.

By morning, the first light had not yet broken the horizon. The fires were embers, and the air hung heavy with the scent of smoke, sweat, and iron.

Beyond the walls, the snow had deepened overnight. The storm had passed, leaving the world muted and pale — the kind of silence that made one listen too closely, only to realize how little they wanted to hear.

Inside the fortress, soldiers were already at work. The ringing of hammers and the distant grind of metal against stone rolled faintly through the corridors. From the courtyard came the rhythmic bark of drills — the garrison roused early, their voices sharp, their movements tense.

Word had spread through the ranks by dawn.
The western scouts still had not returned. The search party sent after them — also gone. Supplies from the southern pass were delayed. And now, the ice along the bay had thickened overnight — a thin white crust glinting like glass across the water.

The soldiers whispered about omens, about shapes seen moving beneath that glass.

Down in the lower barracks, the travelers stirred to life. A few soldiers passed through briefly, offering a nod or a wary glance — acknowledgment, but not trust. Outside, the muffled sound of the bell tolling once carried through the frost, and a faint vibration ran through the floorboards, as though something deep beneath the Bastion had answered in kind.

In the courtyard above, Roderic Alstadt stood near the half-frozen well, his cloak drawn tight against the morning chill. His breath steamed faintly as he read over the reports in his gloved hands, jaw set in quiet frustration.

“Three patrols missing,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only the nearby captain could hear. “And now the supply train from the south’s gone silent too.”

The captain shifted uneasily.

“Could be the weather, my lord. The passes freeze over faster every year—”

“No.” Roderic’s reply cut through the cold. “I can feel it. Something’s wrong in the ice.”

He folded the parchment and looked toward the mist-wrapped horizon. For a moment, the young lord’s expression softened — the weariness of a man forced to bear his father’s crown before its time.

“Ready the wall teams. I’ll want the volunteers briefed before midday.”

“The newcomers, my lord?”

“Aye. If they’re here to earn their keep, they’ll have their chance soon enough.”

The bell rang again — once, sharp and clear.
The sound carried through the fortress corridors and down into the barracks where the new arrivals readied themselves.

The day had begun, gray and cold. Somewhere in the distance, a single crow cawed before falling silent again.

And though none could yet see it, out beyond the frozen sea, something vast was moving beneath the ice.

By the time the sunlight started bleeding into the building, Rachel was already up and awake first, staring out through the windows.

She hadn't been able to get a good night's sleep ever since she came into this land. Whenever she tried, when she was able to doze off after several minutes of tossing and turning, she'd end up getting a cryptic dream that she could not hope to even comprehend. The only thing she remembered was that she was walking somewhere, treading on endless white ground---snow, perhaps, regarding circumstances. Either way, it always ended with a sudden pang of fear and then another episode of migraine that has kept her up in these darkest hours.

Ever since she was a young girl, Rachel has believed her dreams to be predictive in nature. She would talk to her friends and family about what she saw, and every time they all unanimously agreed it to be a sign of the future. These recent ones however have been so vague to her that it filled her with both confusion and apprehension. What could they possibly mean? How does it relate to this entity that had been guiding her these past several days?

She looked to the sky in deep thought. It was a dull grey, easy on her eyes but no less comforting than the thick fog covering the woods that she had been lost in.

Lost.

The biggest question that had been nagging at her mind finally occurred to her in earnest. Why is she here? What is her purpose here in this place? She's overheard from the guards of names she didn't recognize, whispers of something lurking beneath the frozen surface that surrounded this land, talks of gold being rewarded as opposed to giving them away and finally the bells ringing through the walls. The more she tried to fit in and understand, the more disconnected she felt. She's survived thus far, but she already had a bad feeling about today, and all these thoughts along with her sleepless nights did not help her case.

She shivered from the abnormally cold wind that hit her and quietly retreated to the bed she took.

Resting on it was a stone, the same one she'd taken from Andrea, a small reminder of kindness in a place of indifference, foolhardy and greed. What others may not see however was that on its side, there were crude lines forming runic symbols that may have been recently carved with a sharp edge while no one was watching.

Holding it, she still wasn't completely sure what all this was about and where it came from, but the image lingered in the back of her mind from when she 'communicated' with that presence from the fireplace, and looking at it gives her a small feeling of connection.

Character: Axol, the Unworthy
Status: Remembering...

Axol got up next, his eyes still too blurry from a good night's sleep to know whose silent figure passed by his cot. Yet, having just woken up, his eyes betray him, and he perceives a more familiar shape, warm and bright. "Aena...?" He slurred, before quickly snapping awake and sitting up, the figure slowly becoming the silent lady that (in his own opinion) loathed joy and alcohol, staring out the window as the sun's fingers barely crept into the room. For five years, he had managed to go on without remembering.

"Why do you haunt me now, my love?" Axol took a moment in the quiet, just sitting there with his mind. A minute passes by in the room, but years go by behind the sellsword's eyes. He shakes his head and gets up from the floor, stretching his arms and grunting noisily. He turns to see the greatsword lying on the cot, a small part of him worried someone might have stolen it. "Well, not that anyone could carry it so easily." He picks up the blade, not caring for the noise it made when it hit the ground as he pulled it away from its comfortable bed. "Do not follow me... Unless you find ale." Axol announces, stepping out of the barracks to look for something to do to distract himself from his own thoughts.

It proved to be a difficult task as he'd walk into rooms with servants and guards who either eyed him with wariness or just ignored his presence. Eventually, he does find an empty hallway. The quiet allowed yet another memory to invade his mind; long bronze hair and a smile that softened him when he thought that nothing ever could. Axol sighs before lifting his greatsword, a weathered heap of metal with its edges chipped and the ornaments that once gave the weapon grace rusting with disregard. With a powerful swing, he struck the ground, growling, praying that anger dulls his grief. He then swung again at the wall. For five years, he had managed away from the pain, but now... "Aena, I beg of you." He rasps, swinging his sword again, begging against nothing. It was all that he knew to do when wounded. To fight.

After a while, Axol stopped. He gasped for air, the flurry of strikes he had brought upon the keep's walls leaving him exhausted. It was no use. "Ale..." He told himself in between ragged breaths. "Gods, what does a man need to do to have some ale to drown his sorrows?" He swung the greatsword to the ground again before storming off, his late wife slowly leaving his mind for now as he ventures about the fort in a desperate search for alcohol, bumping shoulders with guards and scaring off servants as he marched with purpose, a new distraction, looking as if he was about to kill someone.

Character: Andrea Ashmourn
Status: Recovering

As the sun creeped into the barracks causing two of her ‘acquaintances’ to wake up early and contend with their new realities. Andrea stayed in her own fantasy world. Where the sun shined brightly against her dark complexion, where her mother and father kept making embarrassing remarks to one another, her older brother falling horribly to impress any girls. Where the air smelt like fresh bread and well-seasoned food and it enveloped all of her senses. Where elves are finally free and don’t have to worry about picking up a weapon. Andrea softly laughed as she watched her family from a distance. Watching her family from a distance. Her feet wanted to run towards her family, to run faster than the wind without any weight to her shoulders. To be with her family. Yet when she took one tiny step, the images changed.

Her father’s hanged body swaying left and right, a warning to all to see. To learn what happened to escaped slaves. Her brother is still dressed in a shattered and bloodied armor, a Revas death. Her mother that offered her hands opened towards her offering the sweetest smile that slowly decayed, along with the rest of her body. Snarling in pure ravenous hunger joining the rest of her fallen people in an undeath march. Then at the very center was Him. The Protector, the one that doomed her clan and village. Placing golden shackles around her people’s neck as they celebrated him. Andrea’s heart pounded upon looking at him with pure malice.

However, The Protector approached Andrea. His decayed face showed his bone and bright sapphire eyes as he offered his hand towards her. "Andrea… Stop running from me. Come, be with your clan again. Be safe in the arms of your protector. Let me save you, please.” His voice was sweet and angelic, offering comfort to anyone who met him. Standing behind him were all the faces of her town, still smiling as they all mummed in agreement. Andrea stepped forward, and in a sudden moment she spit in his face, glaring at him with nothing but disgust. "F*ck you. I will kill you and free my people again." Andrea growled. The Protector stayed silent for a moment before he wiped the spit from his face and her people charged towards her.

“At the point of breaking your soul? Please, come home to me again. This time, I will not let go of you.” Andrea froze for a moment longer, when she gathered her senses it was already too late. Elder hands gripped her shoulders and arms, forcing her to kneel before The Protector moved gracefully towards her, wielding a dagger of twisting emerald energy with black ooze dripping. Lifting her chin softly, Andrea glared as she struggled before yelling against him "A broken soul is better than an enslaved one." He shaked his head and eyed her affectionately before shoving the knife into her heart. She cried out as her body twisted and shaked, her ruby eyes turning the sinister emerald, immediately she sat up from the cot. Gasping for air.

Her hand clenched where her heart is at, panting like a sick animal for a moment, her white hair covering her eyes for a moment longer. Beneath the bandages that covered her cleavage greenish veins pulsed for a moment. Slowly her breath returned to normal as her eyes shifted into a dark violet as she whispered to herself. “You slept in. Get up, we are burning daylight.” Andrea ruby hue, sighed slightly. Putting on her tattered layers of clothes and cloak. Taking a deep breath and shaking her head slightly. Groaning softly beneath her breath as her hands rubbed her forehead. “I am awake now.” Andrea combed her hair, cutting any strains that grew, and began to walk towards the door.

Silently she glanced towards Rachel with a slight morning nod as she walked out. Feeling the cold hair blowing against her face as she made her way towards the battlements. Hearing the whisper of something in the ice, causing the sinister voice to raise their non existing eyebrow. Andrea stared at the frozen sea for a moment before glancing towards the training garrison. Running, training, keeping up the hope that their training would make them strong enough to face any horror in the world. Andrea thought back to the freedom fighters, Clan Revas, the same clan that saved her family. She saw the very same look that the garrison guards had on her people. It was inspiring for a moment before her eyes switched into Emerald.

“You shouldn’t stare too long Darling. It might give those poor fools the wrong idea.” Andrea dismissed the idea and turned away from the soldiers. Holding her arms as she leaned against the freezing stone. “Awww. What’s the matter? Bad dreams?” Andrea’s eyes returned to her ruby gaze. “No. Bad memories. You know them just as much as I like do.” Andrea rubbed her chest as she stared at the outskirts of the fortress before her hands returned to her arms to comfort her. Slowly she reached towards her grimoire whispering a small spell to watch the book open towards her. Continuing her studies as her eyes turned back into Emerald with a smirk.

Character: Bromann Dudemiester
Status: Cursing the suns existence

After his little patrol of the walls the night before bromann, one made bearable by the hotrock andrea had given him, bromann would return to the barracks late. The demeanor of the troops and a bit of gossip had given him more insight as to their situation, and frankly he had begun to regret the decision to come here. A dread that was creeping into his resolve and revealing cracks he hadnt even known were there. After a few minutes however his physical exhaustion overpowered his dread and he managed to drift into a mercifully deep sleep. Wether he dreamed or not he had no recollection of.
~~~

By the time the sun crept in through the window and fell upon him, The entire rest of the barracks had seemingly risen and he would rise to a sitting position groggily glaring at the window as if the sunlight owed him money and was giving some excuse as to why it couldn’t pay. Shifting unsteadily to his feet he would fumble around for the coat he had lain beside the brazier to warm it. Yet because he wasnt paying attention he would lay his hand on the hot metal and with a sizzle would junp with a start letting out a stream of curses as he snatched his hand back and cradled it in his chest. Now being fully awake he would snatch up his cloak and wrap it around his shoulders.

Returning to a sitting position on the bed, now a good deal less groggy he would snatch his bow up and reaching into the boot beside his bed draw a rag and a lump of beeswax. Roughly digging into the lump with the rag he would wax his bowstring and check each arrow methodically, taking care not to look up from his work as he was mildly embarrassed at having been so clumsy already. However eventually he had gotten his boots on, straightened his armor and had no more pre checks to run through. Thus he lifted his eyes finally ready to address the remaining allies, only to find only rachel and The noble Thorne remained, apparently Axol & Andrea had already left the fortress and went about their business. Approaching the nearest one he found himself at Rachel’s cot he would nudge her calf with the end of his bow. “Hey, i think we aughta go find that captain, perhaps the others have already figured out what we are supposed to do. Cant be thought of as the slackers, pretty sure Axol would use that as ammunition to try and get a better percentage of our share of the pay.” He would say only half joking, slapping his trademark grin on his face he would hold out a hand to help her to her feet if she would take it. “Everyone has a part to play.” He would say, as if he had some insight to her internal struggle, while in reality he was oblivious.

After what seemed like hours of endless hallways and rooms that gave him not even a whiff of alcohol, Axol finally concedes defeat when he reached the battlements. It had been far too long (a day) since he had the chance to lift his spirits with the gods' blessed beverage, suffering from withdrawal. His irritability has been showing; he notices... A rare moment of self-reflection that led him to think back on the previous night, arguing with Andrea and even prompting the archer- whose name he hadn't even asked- to seek solitude and away from the sellsword's chaotic nature, even claiming that he'd settle for twenty percent. A hint of guilt burned within his chest. "You're supposed to be better than this now. Small wonder why your wife is haunting you." He sighs, leaning his back against a wall, remembering with a bitter smile. Countless times, Aena had scolded him and made him feel like a whimpering pup for getting into brawls and scaring away their neighbors.

"Five times, Axol!" Aena would yell, her voice a stark contrast to the usual sweetness with which she usually spoke. "Five times you managed to get yourself into a fight... In ONE DAY! And you aren't even drunk!? What am I to do with you? Those men's wives came to the bar just as I was getting ready to go home... Gods, don't you even think of the position you put me in whenever you make a mess like this?" It never even crossed his mind back then that other men had wives, parents... A family, waiting for them. No, he should not allow himself to think of that. Not with the lives he's already taken. "Means to an end." He nodded to himself, though his voice was shaky. His eyes wandered to the soldiers around him. "Bags of meat, is all. You're a sellsword, Axol- it's your job. You need the money. Your son needs the money."

The wary eyes of trainees and veterans alike followed him as he walked through the battlements, the cold winds feeling familiar now. As if his size and physique weren't enough, his weathered greatsword added to his concerning presence; thick and rusted, six feet in length and only half an inch shorter than the man that wields it. Axol paid them no mind. He'd watch them spar with their swords, watching the form, the footwork... It was all still foreign to him despite having already been a sellsword himself for a good twelve years. He only knew to swing, pierce, and bludgeon with the old blade. Though despite his dislike for remembering, Axol can't help but wonder from time to time how the weapon's original wielder used it. The knight that he took it from, who he found dying on the battlefield. The reason he was called "the Unworthy." The sellsword couldn't even recall his name anymore... Though what he told Axol was not something he could forget, try as he might.

After some aimless wandering and stare-downs with some soldiers, Axol saw a familiar figure. The pointy-eared woman, Andrea, studied her book calmly as she faced the vast outskirts of the fortress. He could not find it in his heart to trust her with her oddly inconsistent eye colour and cryptic offerings. However, Aena's voice once again bickered at him... With a heavy heart, he strides toward her. "You-" He quickly stops himself before he points his finger at her like he did last night. "Andrea, I meant." He stood there for a moment, his deep-blue eyes unreadable despite the man's supposed simplicity. It was silent, save for the breeze and the clattering of steel that permeated throughout the battlements. Axol, in spite of all he's faced, found himself unable to say the words that he wanted to say to the woman. He sighed, his eyes now reluctant.

"I am sorry for my behavior last night." Axol finally managed, the apology denting his pride deeply. "Know that I only acted that way because I needed assurance on who I'll be working with. That, and because I need the gold." He considered telling Andrea why, but he hesitated. "However, I still do not trust you." One may fault him for the many things he lacks, but his honesty is one of his few admirable traits... Albeit often blurring the lines with rudeness. "I do not wish to squabble. So, I ask you as a companion, why are you here? I've stated my truth already, and wish to know yours." In his mind, Axol wondered if his late wife was proud of him. He stood there, arms crossed, but his expression was softer now, awaiting Andrea's response. Still suspicious, but earnestly hoping to be swayed.

Character: Andrea Ashmourn
Status: Cautious

As the moments pass, Andrea fingers danced on countless pages as she buried herself deeper into the book. Her emerald eyes shined on the falling snowflakes as she smirked to herself on the pages that seemed to be the only things that matter. That and the monsters that terrorized this place, often speaking to herself. “Show yourself.” She whispered to the forest, her eyes narrowing slightly before getting lost in the book again. Yet, her ear twitched, followed by the clanking of armored footsteps against the stone. It wasn’t a soldiers march, but a more familiar one. Andrea nimble fingers snapped the book shut as her eyes reverted back to it’s ruby hue. Unsure if this will be the stabbing he mentioned or another round of the witty banter.

Her hands relaxed on her hips as she slowly faced him completely. Wearing the uncaring and neutral face she wore all day and during their travels. Yet hearing her name on his lips caused her to raise an eyebrow towards him. Finally saying her name to address her, it was a little respect that she always craved. She stayed silent for a moment longer hearing the hidden meaning behind his words, and the way he carried himself. Something made him speak up, that or this is him fully sober without any ale in the morning. She couldn’t wich, as she thought about his question for a moment before a soft and subtle sigh parted her lips and her gaze focused on the soldiers down below.

“You are not the only one that acted beneath their normal routine, and for that we share the apology and hopefully understanding. After all, strangers forced in the same room are bound to cause some drama.” Andrea’s eyes glowed a little brighter but more pinkish as she offered a small smile. Glancing towards him for a moment longer before focusing on the soldiers. “I understand. The need for gold is great in the world, it pays for the bare necessities of life and even more. I also needed the gold as well.” Andrea nodded before walking away from the soldiers and instead leaned against one of the stones on the battlement. The question pondered in her mind as she tapped her arm, fighting within herself.

“Tell him, show him that you are the queen of monsters and need new fighters to take your people’s freedom back. While becoming an unstoppable being of creation.” Her eyes shifted to the opportunist emerald eyes, whispering the idea with a sinister green, but before she could say anything to him she shakes her head. Her eyes return to the ruby color as she takes a small breath. “Nor should you trust me. Trust is hard to obtain and incredibly fragile. But know that I will not betray the group or you.” She answered as honestly as he did, though she was still curious. Her gaze focused on him, building the courage.

“But I suppose you were honest with me, and that deserves some honesty in return.” She gestured as she gestured with her hand, before lazily gesturing towards the people below. “In simplicity, I want my people to have the same freedom as these men and women. To no longer be shackled and collared as slaves again.” Andrea stated before patting to her hip where the book faintly glowed a little before she captured his attention. “But I cannot free my people alone. I need strength. And the strength I seek relies on the wicked souls.” Her eyes focused on the outskirts.

“So I travel to expand my knowledge and practice my power. But my power and magic is considered forsaken in most cities. So I leave, just before the pitchforks and torches are lit up.” Andrea stated plainly though there was some regret echoing in her voice, for just a small moment. Yet she brushed it away, forsaken it with new resolve. Andrea turned towards Axol again, her hand behind her back as her eyes narrowing towards him. “I answered your question and now could you answer mine?” She studied him for a moment longer before tilting her head slightly. “Do I have your word that you won’t regale my tell to the others? Even if the drinks loosened your tongue?”

When she was prodded at, Rachel didn't really give much of a reaction. Only a slow turn to what touched her, then her eyes shot up to see Bromann looking at her. "Oh. Well, I guess of course." She uttered gently, barely recognizing him as the man whose spirit endured through the entire ride. Her face was a seemingly permanent look of neutrality backed by the subtle dark circles under her eyes, and it didn't change upon seeing him outside of her added wariness. She merely listened as he talked and without rush, she took the stone that she was examining, stuffing it inside one of the pouches under her cloak. As her arm brushed under it, there was a brief glimpse of a dark wooden hilt hoisted alongside the rest of her possessions, all hidden from view.

She then turned to find Bromann's hand reached out in front of her and froze completely for a moment. Her vacant eyes was locked in place for what felt like a minute, then finally she blinked and readjusted herself, nodding with a quick stilted smile and declining the offer with a wave. "The way you speak of money... It eludes me completely. I didn't come here of my own volition, let alone be paid. I don't even know why I'm here, so I'm afraid I wouldn't be very helpful for that." For a moment, she spaced out and her mouth cracked between a smile and a fearful frown before settling on the former. "But... I can try to provide what was needed of me and help either way. And if I do get, um, compensated by the end of this, I wouldn't mind giving most of mine to you---if you need it of course. My way of life does not need gold to carry on."

Character: Curly Butterfly
Status: Been sick but alive for 25 years

Leaving the comforts of his family's traveling mecha circus was both scary and exhilarating, even if he couldn't express it beyond his perpetual look of annoyance.
Excitement for the prospects of a world that wouldn't treat him like a baby, something needing constant care around the clock for his sickness. Fear of being on his own for the first time–save for the womanly mecha of dubious awareness trailing close behind. But if even the wealth and influence his family had couldn't buy him a cure, then he'd fix one his damn self!

So Curly travelled far and wide, cultivating his knowledge in medical alchemy and collecting ingredients he thought may help him–often through very ‘unconventional’ means.
In that short time away from home, he had already seen more of the world than he ever had in the circus. And for a moment, his mission became an adventure. But then, his arm would remind him why he was here– the skin, so many shades of purple; his veins bulging and pulsing angrily, his hand so mutated it resembled a beastly claw, and the pain that would flare unpredictably.
Though he did find it funny–and crude– that the only thing stopping his disease from spreading further was his pants belt so tight around his arm, it could've snapped anyone else's.

Through the north, where ice and snow were more plentiful than air to him, Curly stumbled upon Fort Bael. Though old and crumbling here and there, it endured.
Convincing the guards to let him in had been easy–though he quickly realized why when whispers of missing supplies and teams caught his ear. They needed help, much of it. And he would rather endure some labour then be left to the frost. Even if he didn't want to deep down.