The wind blew a soothing chill to the sellsword's skin, the climate now becoming a bit more comfortable as he sat himself down cross-legged on the snowy cobblestones, listening as Andrea spoke with much less intensity than before. He nodded in agreement with her sentiment regarding the importance of gold, though he doubts that she knew just how much it meant to the man. For him, it was all he knew since he was a skinny fifteen-year-old taking odd jobs from shady persons that required his recklessness and talent for violence. It kept his belly filled with meat and ale, and he needed a lot, more than any boy his age. He had spent years just taking jobs, eating, drinking, then finding the next barn to sleep in, hoping that the owner would leave him be for the night. One couldn't even think someone as self-serving as he was could fall in love, let alone keeping that love going for years until childbirth took it away from him... At least now, he didn't need to loathe himself as much for needing gold. Now, someone else needed it.

"It is good to hear that," Axol began in response to Andrea's promise not to betray them, "I do not seek pleasure in having to cut people in half." He said without any sign of a threat in his voice, as if it were the most mundane thing. "Though I do wish to have more of the share, know that I do not intend to harm any of you for that. I've changed my ways long ago, I assure you. I did wish for harm to befall you lot, though- but it's not the same thing... I think." He scratches his head, thinking of the difference between wanting to harm someone and wanting harm to happen to them. Which would make Aena more furious to hear?

He concludes that the former is worse, but the latter is not so much.

Andrea continued, sharing her goals and the true reason why she arrived here in the first place. Axol looks around and sees that the free people she referred to do not seem thrilled with the little freedom they have, given the problems that lurk outside... "Then again, much better to have problems without having shackles." Her mention of using wicked souls did make him raise a brow. His memories snap back to the previous night, the woman's eyes glowing a green hue that reeked of mischief and plotting...

"I assure you, whatever you say to me stays between us. Besides, I do not speak much when drunk. I only throw fists. However, if you do find me drowning my sorrows, please stop me from singing. Apparently, I sing a lot." In his happier days, the sellsword would drink with his late wife when the moon rose, then throw vile accusations at him the following day, claiming that he sang at the top of his lungs, which he swore to her he had no recollection of. This was unfortunately proven to be true, as their neighbors would one day muster the courage to nervously ask him to be quieter so that their children would not be so frightened to sleep. He manages a faint smile at the memory, though his heart still aches. Were things different, he would have liked to hear her laughing at him again.

"You have piqued my curiosity, Andrea, that I admit." Axol's eyes were downcast, staring at the rusted ornamentation of his greatsword as he spoke, "I... I am sorry to hear what befell your people. Were it me in your stead, I would have likely already been dead for charging at the bastards at the first opportunity I'm given. Your patience is commendable." He chuckles, though his eyes remain on the blade. "I know what that feels like, to an extent." He says, referring to the pointy-eared woman's sentiments on being an outcast. "I've developed a reputation, you see. One that made it difficult to be welcomed by the commonfolk within villages. Aye, they served me food and ale when I paid. But no one even dared to look me in the eye, nor offer me straw to lie on when I had not a single coin left in my pockets and had to sleep on the streets. It wasn't just fear. I could tell. They despised me..." Axol remained quiet for a while, his eyes distant. In his head, he hears the old knight's dying wishes once more...

"Forgive me, Andrea. I did not mean to blight your day with my sorrows. Though I assure you that you did not blight mine with yours." He sighed, pushing himself back up on his feet, his heavy steel apparel singing along with every shift of his body. "Ah, I simply cannot picture myself sober. Look at what it does to me." He smiles, managing a jest. His distrust for her still lingered, but whether it was out of desperation or something else, Axol did need someone to hear him. Even if it were someone whose very presence still oozed mystique despite their intentions being laid bare. For too long, he had not even reflected upon all that's happened to him... And with Andrea, he was only picking at the surface.

Character: Andrea Ashmourn
Status: Guarded but Curious

Andrea listened to the sober man’s response with a curious look, but a small chuckle escaped her lips at his explanation of wishing harm and what not. It was a sentiment that she shared the night prior, though she was a little taken back from seeing the sober side of him. Yet as he explained that he wanted more than just the average share, she raised her eyebrow. The gold would be enough for him to drink, eat and sleep whenever he pleased. Despite that, Andrea learned that the drink was either for celebration or forgetting to everyone except for her. The drink gave the voices a greater chance to speak for themselves. So there had to be a better reason for needing more money than the average sell sword. Debts seemed to be the obvious answer, but perhaps there was something more than that.

“I understand the sentiment, Axol. You are correct, they are different. One's wishful thinking, the other, is methodical planning. I am glad you are hoping for my downfall, you can join the others in a very, very long line of hoping for my downfall.” Andrea teased slightly with a playful smirk growing on her lips, he was much more tolerable sober than drunken. Though she needed to be twice as guarded with him, if the drunken side of Axol was able to notice something before the hints. The sober side of him must be more perspective than he seemed to be. Andrea continued to stare towards the forest for a moment longer for a moment before hearing his agreement and him regaling of drunken singing. She chuckled again slightly, eyeing him a little.

“That’s good to hear. Though I can’t promise that I would stop you from singing away your sorrows. I will try, however. To make it fair between us, you keep my confession and I will do my best to stop your singing.” Andrea smiled softly, glancing towards him with her hands resting on her hips as she listened, noting his demeanor. The faint little smile that gracefully ghosted his lips, it was something she was curious about. Crossing out one of the possibilities for the need of more gold. Yet when he offered his sympathy and shared he would have been the first to go, she frowned slightly. Casting her gaze back towards the outskirts of the forest.

“You wouldn’t be the first to charge against injustice.” Andrea's voice softened a little, her gaze lowered for a moment longer. Her mind thinking of the clashing of swords and cries of dying men, the glint of armor that her brother wore as he raged out. His white hair flowing as he held the line, the flashing of his swords being colored in crimson, and the hissing sound of arrows pricing through his body. The light fading from his eyes as she locked eyes with him, offering a kind smile before crumbling to the ground. Andrea shakes her head, removing the thought as she crosses her arm. “Though if you truly feel that way, I admire your effort. You would make a good Revan warrior.” Andrea smiled a little, still saddened but the voices whispers relieved some of that weight.

Instead she listened to his words of not being accepted by his own people. The hate of being what he is, though it is curious on what he had done. She knew there were jobs that people despised others for, but unsure to feel bad for him or skeptical of what he had done. She recounted his mentions for a moment before offering a sympathetic nod. “You have my sympathies, and my curiosity on why you were despised. Though I understand if you don’t wish to tell. We both have scars and secrets kept close to our skin.” Andrea nodded a little as the sinister voice whispered softly towards her. “We could pay him. He has muscle and hopefully the skill to prove the sword. Then when he falls, we could bring him back time and time again.” Andrea shake her head, fully turning towards him offering a kind smile.

“There is no need for forgiveness. It sounds like you need to speak your mind, with someone who knows at least a small portion of what you feel.” Andrea smiled and her smile turned into a small laugh as she heard his little jest. “I prefer you sober Axol. It shows you are honest and hold scars inside your heart. You seem like a decent person. Instead of a drunken sellsword.” Andrea offered her two cents with a little smile. The voice scoffed in annoyance. “You are clever darling. But words are meaningless, we need action to prove his words. He is still on the table.” Andrea glanced towards the outside knowing that she craved the path to the other voices before glancing towards him fully.

“I hope you will remember our talk when you drown your sorrows again.” Andrea jested with a small smile as she glanced towards him. “I don’t think our companions would appreciate it if we fought again, myself included.” turned back to the forest, watching the snow for a moment longer before she spoke up her mind. “My title is Andrea the Exiled. What is your title? If, you don’t mind me prying?”

Character: Bromann Dudemiester
Status: Genuinely Surprised

His Eyebrows would raise a noticeable tick as he searched Rachel’s face for some kind of mockery or deceit, yet his search yielded nothing. Though reading people wasn’t exactly his best trait. “Try not to think to ill of me, my desire for coin isnt build off of greed, i portion out what i need for provisions and send the rest back home.” He would say letting his hand return to his side. Then walking over towards the door, with a slightly lingering walk to ensure he didnt seem too eager to leave. “My towns fallen on some hard times, business is drying up and soon the last stragglers will be forced to leave. So im hoping to have a road built connecting the town to the main road. That what the gold means to me.” He would say with a slight smile, as if the idea of his town rebuilding was his lifeline of hope.

He seemed to be thinking for a while as he waited by the door, eventually casting it open as Rachel neared it. “You said you didnt come here of your own volition? Whats that all about? Ive noticed a certain…stress about you, Is there anything i can do?” He felt kinda guilty for prying, but another part of him didnt like the idea of people being forced into action. In his eyes virtue and goodness was a choice, if that were removed then it soured the glory not to mention the other issues with stripping a person of their free will.

Character Name: Rachel Backe
Status: Pensive

Rachel softened after hearing out Bromann, the confidence in her speech becoming more apparent as she spoke more clearly. "That's an admirable goal. I'm sure my family would have loved to reach out and help you, we provide support and cozy homes for those struggling with money and debt. Perhaps if you would allow me, I would help you bring more home for your people." She smiled.

When the conversation shifted to her focus, her expression dropped in an instant. "Oh, please. I wish I knew myself." She started with a small sigh, "I was living my life in peace, tending to the garden and feeding our animals, then things happened. Next thing I know, I was far away from home with no way to make contact." The way she said all these things under a thin veil of vagueness, she's clearly being coy about the details of her situation. Skirting around the truth of what actually happened, whether she's doing it consciously or not. Sounds rang in her head, but she could not make out just what it was.

She put her hand on her head as she began to re-articulate her deeply confusing thoughts.

"There's a presence I've been feeling that'd been following me ever since. Giving me words of reassurance that I will be guided and protected from danger. I thought it to be our god or an avatar of his, for I know nothing else would remain with me even after disaster or death, but..." She closed her mouth in the middle of the sentence, her mind going somewhere else, thinking of the people she'd left behind and feeling as if she'd abandoned them. "...I'm not quite so sure myself if this is the right place to be. If I'm fit for it." That was a bit of a lie, she remembered what she saw at the hearth. How the flame burst to send sparks sprinkling her way, leaving her something to remember that she had then engraved.

Perhaps the small shelter of fire in the middle of white tundra following her near-death experience in the snow was exactly where she's meant to be, but why? Why was she so compelled to follow it if she doesn't know if it was her god? Wouldn't it be sinful to pray to anything other than her god even in the most dire of situations? Guilt welled up in her chest, and to that she asked herself internally, what else could she have done? She was scared, and this wasn't the first time she'd deserted her own faith.

At the corner of her eye she spotted another human wandering within the walls, someone she hadn't noticed before. Had they been on the wagon with the rest of them, or did they sneak in overnight? Though her eyes pointed towards them, she chose not to say anything about it.

@Nachogod @Slowpokie

Axol never thought of himself as the kind to spill feelings to someone who was essentially still a stranger, and yet, he could easily see the grief and sorrow that Andrea hid behind her eyes when she spoke of fighting the injustice that enslaved her people. Despite his distrust, there was a comfort in knowing he found a fellow struggler. It takes one to know one, after all. For five years, he had never spoken with anyone to this extent. The only conversations that lasted as long were negotiations with employers, which were almost one-sided since Axol negotiated with grunts of agreement or grimaces of disapproval. It proved to be effective, though. Once, some poor farmer offered to pay him eighty copper Rykes to get rid of a rogue troll couple that kept stealing his cows. One frown from Axol convinced the farmer he should pay the man one hundred and thirteen instead.

When Andrea asked for his title, he couldn't help but think back on that farmer. When he collected his pay, the farmer had but one cow left, two sheep, and his daughter, who looked feverish. That was a long time ago, but the guilt still caught on like barbed wire on his heart. He heard the old knight in his head. "I pray you use it for good..."

"The Unworthy," Axol answered, the tone of his voice now devoid of his usual arrogance or showmanship. "Much more interesting than 'Exiled', eh?" He teases with a playful smirk, an attempt to shrug off the weight the name carried. "I've done plenty to make people despise me, yet it's this sword that earned me that name." He lifts the massive, weathered blade and holds it upright in one hand, barely straining a muscle. It did not even shine when the sun touched it, its glory days having already passed away, along with its former and rightful owner. "Perhaps I'll tell you more of it the next time we speak. For now, let's leave it at that." He gave the pointy-eared woman a warm smile, rare for a man like him. "I must speak with the archer now, see if he really means to take only twenty percent of his own share and give the rest to us. Such acts of charity need to be double-checked."

"As for fighting... I won't make any promises." His eyes gleamed with mischief and a hint of challenge, though now it was less weighted and almost playful. "Unless one of these dull lackeys gives me ale, I'm bound to grow more irritable. Besides, fighting is good. Bickering and arguing can be annoying, yes, but it is a bond forged nonetheless, one shared exclusively between two. Real fights, however... Now, that's a dance that forges even deeper bonds." He grinned, his mind racing with memories of countless battles he had fought, man and monster alike. "It is my truth; a way to find a friend in my enemies. With every swing of a blade or hurling of a fist, you are showing one another your most honest selves, something that most can't even do with their closest companions. It's special." He sighed with a soft smile. With his words, he did not imply a threat; Axol merely expressed his passion. "A damn shame that they perish moments after our newfound friendship..."

The sellsword turns to leave, making his way back to the keep's halls to find the barracks. "I look forward to our partnership- and disagreements, Andrea, the Exiled!" His voice, loud as ever, boomed throughout the courtyard as he walked away, waving at Andrea behind him without turning to face her. On his way back, he pondered about the mysterious woman a while longer. Did she speak the truth as he did? Her eyes told a thousand stories, yet they were all vague. Axol could recognize that she can fight and is not afraid to go toe-to-toe with whatever danger they will be facing. Axol hadn't felt so conflicted about someone. He shrugs it off, whistling a familiar tune as he lets his greatsword rest on his shoulder. "Thinking is not your way, Axol. Go with your gut. Like you always do. Let the gods decide whether she is friend or foe."

@The Voice

Character: Andrea Ashmourn
Status: Dreading

Andrea offered a small smile, a tiny smile that offered only understanding from another traveler of the road. Unworthy echoed in her mind as he made the joke, a little chuckle vibrated on her lips as she nodded her head. “Most definitely. Carries more mystery then exiled, at least.” She returned the little jest, finding some laughter of her cowardness. She listened carefully, nodding her head, still playing with his cards close to his chest. It was for the best. When money and life is on the line, you could never find who to trust in the game. Besides, she had no trust to offer for she didn’t trust herself with anything, and rather play it safe. “You will have my ear when you need to share.” Andrea’s ear twitched a little, watching him leave to meet the archer. “I wouldn’t put most thought into his charity. He seems young, and some lessons need to be learned the hard way. But I won’t stop you from looking.” Andrea laughed a little, her hand covering her lips as she listened to his remark about fighting.

“There’s an old saying, ‘Once you cross blades with someone, you know their heart.’ I didn't think I would see someone live out that old quote though.” She jested playfully, keeping the mood a little light as she watched him carefully. She could only listen to the way he learns the truth, not using secrets nor blackmail. Not reading in books or even having honest conversation. Just combat pure and true. Her mind drifted to the leader of the first rebellion. Keal, the champion of the pits. Always fighting with those who disagreed with him, and leading from the front. Inspiring, like a true hero who gave everything including his life to fight against his people’s cruel fate. It was something she always wanted to learn, to find truth with steel. Yet how can you fight someone that’s already a part of you?

Andrea's mind drifted onto the question as she rubbed her heart a little, feeling a little warmth from the energy flowing. She would receive no answers. When Andrea heard him call out she laughed a little as she offered a little bow towards him. “And to you as well, Axol the Unworthy. Prepare yourself well.” Andrea teased in good fun, but also a little warning. As the voices echoed in her mind again, fighting for control. For awhile she let the smile rest on her lips before her eyes shifted into the hue emerald green. Crossing her arms in defiance as she fully turned to face the forest.

“There are more trusting ways to make friends, Andrea.” Andrea rolled her eyes as she returned to her sulking against the stone. Yet the voice continued to press and prod. “He is called the Unworthy for a reason, he has shame and guilt that rest on his lips, but drowns all of that with a few dozen bottles of ale. He doesn’t trust you and you don’t trust him. So let’s cut down to the simplest form. Loose the mortality sh*t and let them all die.” Andrea scoffed bitterly as she clenched her teeth. About to argue but the voice continued. “You think Auren hand picks out his soldiers? No he takes everything and uses it to his benefit. We don’t have the luxury to pick. We have to fight fire with fire.” Andrea gasped a little, grasping at her chest feeling the energy flowing hotter as the voice continued to prattle. “Let the power surge Andrea. Stop resisting it.”

For a moment Andrea breathed in and out. Her mind unraveled for a moment longer, until she sat back up. Growling to herself as she shaked her head. “I will resist it and you for as long as I can. Until you prove to me that you are helping us. We protect the bastion and you get the first soldiers for our army.” She spoke defiantly glaring at the air with her ruby eyes, and slowly started to choke. Feeling the pressure against her throat tighten, until it stops completely letting her catch her breath.

“I don’t like it when you are defiant. Yet perhaps you are right, I haven’t proven the power yet. So when the next battle comes, I will take over and deal with the monsters. From there you can see the results for yourself.” Andrea breathed heavily for a moment longer before green energy crackled from her neck, allowing her to breathe regularly. As Andrea nodded solemnly in agreement of the one sided deal. With only the wind as the main voice echoing between her hears she stared at the forest. Waiting and dreading until the monsters appear.

@VoLimiNaL

Character: Curly Butterfly
Status: Awkward

The Ironbelle moved through the icy kingdom with ease, appearing to almost glide across the footpath. The heating chemicals pumping throughout its black metal shell kept snow and rime at bay, leaving only the presence of a gentle warmth.
The eyes on its smooth metal dome immediately noticed the girl and man in the distance, who stuck out like a sore thumb in comparison to the rest in the fortress. Vagrants? Drifters? It didn't know, and that pulled its curiosity.

With a few beeps, the mecha made its way towards them, swaying its bell from side to side. Within the mecha, Curly cursed under his breath. “The hell ya’ doing?!” he spat out, trying to control the mecha to no avail “I don't wanna talk ta’ nobody unless I gotta-”

The Ironbelle stopped in front of the two, letting off a few more beeps. Eyes pulled up in an effort to express something like a smile, it waved at them, before opening its chest to pull Curly out and force him to engage. She nudged her short pilot at them, who in turn looked at them puzzled. “Aw hell…” he muttered under his breath, turning to face the two stiffly. “Uh… Howdy".

@Nachogod@Starleaper

Character: Bromann Dudemiester
Status: Growing more optimistic.

Bromann left eyebrow rose with intrigue not sure if he believed her fantastic claim. “Thats…” he started, speaking slower than usual as if mulling over the words she said even as he spoke. “A great deal more interesting than my trip here.” he would say with a bit of a smirk. If her story was actually true, having a potentially wealthy family would certainly make his journey easier. However if it were true then she had been whisked away by a god and given a personal divine guide. That would certainly make his journey more easy. However…there was still a chance that she was off her rocker. If that were the case then the proper thing to do would still be to return her to her family, it would just make doing so Exceedingly more difficult. Either way, his response would likely have been the same. “Sounds to me like you are a literal godsend. Which i would wager belongs in a place like this about as much as everyone possibly more…tell ya what if you would like after we make it through this i can try to help you make it back home? I help you your family helps me, win-win. We just gotta get through”

Mere moments after his words left his mouth a mechanical being strode in a gracefully as if it were skating across the frozen group. At first he was startled and instinctively reached for his bow, but then the mechanical thing stopped, waved, and opened up to pull a short man out of its chest cavity. Finally bromanns other eyebrow would raise. “Howdy to you too…um,whats you purpose here?” He would ask, trying to sound official like a guard or something, and hoping their arrival was another ally to add to their barracks, the more they had the better, a foreboding sense in the back of his mind told him they would need all the help they could get.

The horn blew once — long, low, and heavy enough to rattle dust from the beams above.
A summons, not an alarm.
Not yet.

By now, pale daylight had crept across the ramparts. The blizzard had passed, leaving a gray sun suspended over the Bastion and its wind-swept fields. From the battlements, the land looked endless — a patchwork of snow, pine, and frostbitten earth stretching all the way to the faint shimmer of the frozen bay.

The new arrivals were gathered alongside a handful of veteran soldiers near the western wall. Armor clinked, boots stamped against the stones, and breaths came out in pale plumes. Among them, Captain Varn was barking orders in a voice that could’ve cracked ice.

> “Archers to the left flank! Keep your lines tight! You’re not shooting crows today!”

He turned when he spotted the newcomers approaching — Rachel with her faint air of reverence, Bromann at her side, Axol’s massive blade gleaming dully on his shoulder, Andrea’s cloak stirring like ink in the wind, and the mechanical Ironbelle trailing Curly with a hiss of steam.

> “Ah. The volunteers.”
He spat over the side, then nodded toward the parapet.
“You wanted to earn your bread, did you? Come have a look.”

The soldiers shifted to let them through. Beyond the wall, the view opened — a frozen valley of muted white and gray, dotted by pines and the ruins of a few old farmhouses. For a heartbeat, it seemed calm.

Then, something moved.

It began as a ripple through the snow — far out, halfway between the treeline and the bay. The motion spread like a wave as the wind lifted, sending thin sheets of ice tumbling across the plain.

> “By the gods…” murmured one of the guards, voice tight.

Shapes began to emerge from the haze. Not men, not beasts in any familiar sense.

The first were Ironfangs — bear-sized lupine creatures with jagged plates of frozen metal fused into their hides, their breath steaming through serrated maws. Behind them lumbered a Skrynn, a bipedal monster with the body of a stag and the face of a skull, antlers blackened and dripping frost like tar. It moved with a terrible, deliberate grace, each step leaving cracks in the ground.

Worse still were the smaller things — dozens, maybe hundreds, of hunched figures skittering through the snow on too many limbs. They moved in bursts, like insects trying to mimic wolves, their hides pale enough to vanish until they were nearly at the wall’s shadow.

“Saints preserve us…” whispered a soldier.
“That’s not a hunting pack.”
“No.” Varn’s voice had gone low, grim. “That’s a migration.”

The horn sounded again — two short blasts this time. The wordless message carried down into the keep: Form the line.

From the gatehouse, Lord Roderic strode out, cloak snapping in the wind. His expression was stone, but his eyes were sharp as cut glass.

“You see them now,” he said quietly, as if to himself, before addressing the gathered group.
“We’ve sighted a horde coming from the west. They’ll reach the lower fields by nightfall, sooner if they’re driven.”

His gaze lingered briefly on the new arrivals — weighing, calculating.

“I’ll not ask untested strangers to stand the first wall. But I will ask for eyes and steel where mine can’t be.”

He pointed toward the valley below, where the faint dark line of the old watch road cut between the drifts.

“There’s an outpost halfway down that ridge. Our scouts were meant to return from it two days ago. I need to know what happened to them — and if that road still holds.”

Captain Varn grunted.

“You’ll want to move quick. The things down there hunt by vibration. If the snow goes still, they’ll hear your heartbeat.”

A silence hung after that, broken only by the groan of the wind and the faint, distant shriek of one of the Ironfangs below.

The monsters were still a mile out, but the ground already trembled under their weight.

Character: Curly Butterfly
Status: Awkward, then serious

“Oh, ya’ know… stuff…” Curly replied stiffly to Bromann, his eyes darting between him and the girl at his side.
Talking to people had never been a strong point of his, even when he worked for his family's circus. He tried most times to keep things short and to the point. He was better within his suit, where his piloting skills and alchemical concoctions could flourish better.

The Ironbelle beeped lowly, nudging their pilot to them. His arm twitched, the purple veins pulsing beneath the even purpler skin, clawed fingers clenching and opening. “Uh, so… ya’ like jaz-”

The conversation was brought to a sudden standstill when they were ushered by the booming might of a horn. They were gathered up by soldiers of the fort–men clearly sharpened by years of experience. As they parted, the view of what they were going up against was realized. Hulking beasts made of ice, snow and meat emerged from the snow like creatures riding through the sea.
They resembled land animals almost, yet key details were missing, making a creature that was uncannily unsettling.
But it was the little ones that unnerved Curly, making his arm throbbed achingly. He never was fond of insectoids.

Lord Roderic appeared on his steed, informing the newcomers of the approaching horde, the need for eyes and arms, and–most importantly–the missing scouts and road status.
Frankly, Curly didn’t mean to extend his help this far. He was here to secure medicines and ingredients, clean around the fortress a little in return, done. But he made his promise to help in any way, a decision he’d soon see if he'd regret or not.
Feeling the ground beneath them shake even this far, Curly swallows his nerves and nods. “Well, I'm fixing to get this over an’ done with asap, if y’all are.”
@Moonberry@Nachogod@Starleaper@Others

Andrea leaned against the frost covered stone wall, as her mind roared against different memories. The heavy weight of the tortuous chains begins to shatter with a blinding flash of steel roaring out. The cries of vengeful fighters with freedom crying from their lips echoed in her ears. The devouring kiss she once craved on her lips now burns her fractured soul with nothing but sinful wrath and malice. Finally the sinister voice washed all over, a simple warmth to most but Andrea knew it was a reminder of what she had let in to fill the cracks. “It’s time to move darling. The promise of soldiers awaits us.” As the air broke through her lips, her ruby eyes shining a little brighter with the promise of more when the horn screams out. The preparation, the soldiers testament of valor and honor. The ideals of choice shining like a beacon against the winter’s fog.

Andrea gracefully danced towards the rallying horn, while her cloak twitched with the wind. Her gaze switched from soldier to soldier with unbridled curiosity until she rejoined with the travelers. She offered a little smile towards all, even a little knowing look towards Axol. Yet her eyes matched with the newcomer with a little smile. “Another one? At this rate we might have a little army.” Andrea fingers covered her little laugh even as she could feel the annoyed look from the voices. Her ruby hue focused on Curly as she offered a little nod. “Well met. I am Andrea. Glad that you are with us.” Andrea spoke kindly though her eyes were clearly studying the newcomer. It was a short study as the captain called out, granting them a view of what was coming. Andrea moved out first, lowering her tattered hood as her eyes widened completely. Watching the mass migration moving with natural desires despite their unnatural appearance.

Andrea was awe inspired by the creatures. Her chest crackled with green energy as emerald eyes flashed for a moment. “Yes! Yes! Look at them! Monstrous and beastly! Oh, darling you were right! This is better than these men and women of frost and steel.” Dismissably Andrea shook her head as she leaned closer towards the edge watching the monsters as her ruby gaze settled on the snow as she listened to the murmurs of the soldiers. Familiar faces of despair and horror echoed in her mind. They all had the same face that her people wore, frightened and trembling. Even though they had weapons and walls, fear was like a barb of hooks. Digging into the flesh of the brave and tearing away their sanity. It was a wonder how they survived as long as they did, yet perhaps they were prepared for the monsters unlike her people. Perhaps that’s why they haven’t found their cruel protector.

With a groan and her fingers brushing her forehead she snapped back to reality. Learning of their mission of the outpost. The missing scouts and the road, out there with the monsters. Well at least a part of her would be satisfied with the outcome. Yet Andrea could only ponder what the lord had in mind. The whispers echoed with some unreadiness and even as the monsters revealed themselves it seemed like they were not as ready as they seemed. Were they planning to run? Was that the meeting of the higher counsel? A plan to run, to live another day? “A guess that works well in our favor. Perhaps they can kill a few of those little beauties and we can collect another day.” Andrea offered a small sigh as she glanced towards the lord with a polite nod. “We will see it done. I promise that you will have your answers.” Andrea spoke a little softer with a noble smile as the memory still poisoned her further. With a little nod to her group she begins her own preparations.

Quickly fastening her grimoire tightly against her hip as she resets her cloak. Quietly Andrea drew a rune carved dagger, while her finger tips grazed the edge of the blade. “Sharp enough.” Andrea hissed to herself with a little nip from her finger causing a little wince, always hatting this part as she traced the runes with her crimson offering. The crimson offering was consumed with green fire until the blade hummed with newfound focus. Andrea took a small breath as her left eye begin shifting into the bright emerald. This time staying longer then just flashes of power, though with a little movement her hair blocked any sight of her left eye. Andrea pushed forward with a nod to the others. “Let’s get a move on you slow pokes.” Andrea offered a little humor while her right eye still burned a bright ruby red as she moved forward.

“This time. This time will be different.” Andrea whispered to herself as she moved towards the outpost as carefully as she can towards the location where the scouts were.

Dread returned to Rachel's chest when the horn blared through the air and she heard that her presence are needed. Despite all reassurances, she felt wholly unprepared for what's about to come. The moment the captain directed her, she forgot about her conversation---though still remembered to apologize---and paced to the wall to catch the view.

Then her blood ran cold, what she could have imagined to happen could not be any worse than what she's seeing right now. Within haze, hordes of creatures much more foreign, their shapes uncanny to what she'd known in stories told among her people and their numbers much more than she could ever expect. Demons, they're demons, aren't they? They're real... The words caught in their throat.

Grotesque forms emerging from the darkest of nights, to pluck out unsuspecting victims and pull them away, never to be seen again, leaving houses empty and ruined. Now, in broad daylight, they come out in the open with their horrific fangs bared and their many legs treading the white grounds. Back home, they used large hounds. Not just for the cattle, but for the people. Sacred animals with sacred duties. They protected her and her people fiercely from danger, they could smell sin, unbelievers. She was told that their baying breathed invisible fire that wards off ancient evil and strikes terror in all forms of life. They were essential in stopping these attacks from endangering her family.

But a swarm of this magnitude? Hounds wouldn't be enough. Steel wouldn't be enough. Not that she thinks they would. Her fingers twitched at her hip, but still making no real motion to pick at anything, not yet. She breathed in as the horns sounded again.

Rachel, Little Lamb.

Not so much a voice, but words regardless came to her mind. Nothing happens without an end. No end happens with nothing.

The fire inside you, remember It. Remember Its light. Remember Its warmth. Remember your purpose.

Then she breathed out, gulping back her doubts and her mind cleared. She turned back to the lord's calculating eye, assessing him the same way albeit lacking his edge, then to the captain who briefed them in about the outpost.

"The snow... perhaps we might be able to make use of it to get us around after all." She replied affirmatively, not just referring to the snow, but in a way, herself. She looked on, this time with a sense of resolution, returning a knowing glance at Andrea's nod. Her stance righted itself as well into a more firm one, not outright confident but getting there.

A sigh of relief left Axol's lips as the horn blew its low and looming note, demanding urgency from the dwellers of this cold keep. The sellsword took his time though, strolling casually as he followed wherever the soldiers ran towards, hoping it'd lead him to where he needed to be. Though he seemed aloof, his heart beat against his chest. He felt as though the blade he wielded was a limb that itched to hurt. "If I can't get ale, they could at least give me a good fight..." As he made his way, his mind drifted back to his current companions. Besides Andrea, whose eyes spoke of past battles, he wonders how his other companions would fare on the battlefield. At least the archer had a weapon. He prays the rest have theirs hidden somewhere in their person, lest he be burdened with carrying bodies back to the Bastion. Aena wouldn't allow him to leave his fallen comrades unburied and without prayers.

The harsh winds blew against him once more when he arrived at the ramparts. There, he found the rest of the party, and the young lord who had employed them. Axol had grown used to the cold, but couldn't find it in his heart to dislike it any less. The pointy-eared woman joined them, a strange feeling of comfort mingled with suspicion grew as her presence entered. The two exchange a knowing look, before Axol's eyes made its way to a strange man beside and even stranger machine. He seemed as out of place as the rest of the travelers. Is he lost? Slowly, the sellsword starts to piece it all together...

"GODS!" He yelled in frustration. Another one? One more to take a slice out of the already thinning pie that is their bounty? He's starting to think that this is being done to him on purpose. After breathing heavily for a few seconds, Axol finds it in himself to regain composure, but refuses to explain his outburst.

"Archer." He said without meeting to face the charitable young lad, his tone flat and clearly still heated. "What is your name? You seem young. How badly do you need the money? Are you willing to be more charitable and keep only ten-percent?" He then side-eyes the alcohol-hating lady, whose face seemed to turn pale upon seeing what hid behind the raging wall of snow from the distance. "You've spoken with her, yes? Does she think money is a sin? Does she intend on taking her share?"

Axol takes a step to the edges of the wall to see what the young lord was referring to... And for a moment, his heart stopped. He had faced monsters before, but these... Too many. Cold sweat trickled down his brow as he felt a fear he hadn't felt in years. The creatures seemed intent on either storming the keep or leaving it in ruins to get elsewhere past it. He could feel their cold eyes even from such a distance; he knew that instinct drove them. Axol half-heartedly listened to the loud captain's advise, and his words of warning only served to make Axol's heart sink deeper. As he stood frozen for what was hours in his head, the fear in his heart is slowly invaded by a new volatile chemical; excitement. The two danced in his chest like a deadly brew, his grip tightening around the handle of his greatsword. Andrea's encouraging tease served as the spark to ignite the sellsword's own spirit. "Aye. The Gods are kind to us, friends. They've granted us a good fight!" He says to the other travelers as he turned and strode past them to follow the Exiled, battling the fear of death with a manic smile and thirst for the clash. "They'll not have me just yet, Aena. I won't leave our boy. For now, give me leave to do what I love most."

@Nachogod @The Voice @Slowpokie @Starleaper

Character: Bromann Dudemiester
Status: Undeservingly Confident

The blasting of the horn had cut the admittedly growing awkwardness of the conversation like a hot knife through butter. Bromann was greatful for the interruption but only until he heard the orders he and the others would be tasked with following. Slowly his smirk would begin to spread across his face again, a clear sign of his nerves. His eyes would shift from between Andrea, Axol, Rachel, and the Guy with the mecha suit. A chuckling “Not the time Axol,if we make it out alive then we can discuss the books.” Was the first reply, hopefully the levity in the statement did not completely overshadow his firmness. “Aye andrea, The faster we move the more likely we will be able to get there before the enemy floods the area. The tower is more defensible, at least more so than an open field. If we are able to get a defensive position in place we might be able to attract enough of the creatures to give the fort some breathing room.” He would say analyzing their situation with a shrewd eye and an optimistic outlook.

He readied himself taking his bow off of his back and gripping an arrow in his free hand, waiting at the gate for his allies to gather. He hadnt laid eyes on the Tower in the velley, had no idea how far they would have to run, yet he was worried a tad about Rachel and the mage. He wagered Axol and Andrea would be alright, they looked like they would be at home in a state of combat. The Robot guy, earlier had moved across the snow with enough ease that Bromann figured he would be the first to the tower, but rachel…he was not sure about. She seemed uncomfortable with the mission at hand, and he was by no means sure about her ability to run, or fight for that matter. “We’ve got this.” He muttered to himself, the grin on his face mixed with his wide eyes surely made him look manic, his anxiety was through the roof. Yet this flood of adrenaline was exactly what he was looking for, and for the first time in years he not only felt alive, but as if his actions would soon matter in a way they had not for most if not all of his life.

The western road stretched before them, narrow and treacherous beneath the weight of fresh snow. Once a trade route connecting the Bastion to the coastal passes, it was now little more than a frozen vein leading into silence.

The sound of battle still echoed faintly behind them — the boom of trebuchets, the distant clash of steel, and the occasional inhuman cry carried on the wind. The Bastion was still holding, for now. Out here, however, the noise was muffled by the snow, reduced to little more than a low, rhythmic thrum beneath the breath of the cold.

They had followed the road for some time, the air growing heavier with frost as the sun bled weakly through the clouds. The path sloped downward into a shallow vale where the wind whistled through the broken remains of an old wooden barricade, its timbers split and buried beneath drifts of ice.

The further they walked, the quieter the world became.
Even their footsteps seemed to dull, swallowed by the snow.

Ahead, the first sign of life — or something close to it — broke the monotony.
The road dipped into a low clearing where the drifts gathered deep. A mound of snow sat unnaturally still at its center. For a time, it seemed part of the landscape — until the mound shuddered.

A crack split through the snow, slow at first, then sudden. A column of black mist hissed upward as the shape beneath it rose.

The creature that emerged might once have been a bear, but whatever life had shaped it was long gone. Its body was a grotesque fusion of bone, frost, and sinew. Ribs jutted through its hide like jagged antlers, each one gleaming with a slick, translucent sheen. Steam rose from wounds that never healed. Within its hollow chest pulsed a dull green glow — rhythmic, sickly, like a heartbeat made of envy.

The smell of it hit next — rot and brine, mixed with the faint copper tang of frozen blood.

The monster moved with a dragging gait, each step heavy enough to tremble the crust of snow beneath its limbs. Its head, half skull and half sludge, tilted as if sniffing the air. A rasping growl rumbled from deep within its chest — wet, gurgling, and almost sorrowful.

Then, from the ditch beside the road, another shape erupted.
Smaller, faster, its movements insectile and jerky. A twisted carcass of some elk or stag had been absorbed into its form — antlers fused into bone plates across its back, hooves dragging like anchors behind a body that crawled too low to the ground. Its face was nothing but a dark, tooth-ringed pit that steamed with black vapor.

[Hr]

Ooc: alright folks. We've entered Combat.

That means that you may only post once this round.

Thateans that you can only make 3 actions this round.

At the end of your post you must list your actions and what your character did.

Your character can move up to about 30 ft (this may change once I confirm things) per post.

There are two monsters staggering towards the group. Use this turn to use your abilities/skills to attack the creatures.

If you are attacking make sure that you name the target.

Character: Bromann Dudemiester
Status: Discovering A concerning response to fear.

Bromann was on edge as the group began to leave the fort. He had already drawn at least one arrow and had it in his left hand just in case he needed to respond quickly. He found that his anxiety did not abate as they traveled on. Instead he kept his head on a swivel keeping aware of his surroundings with squirrel like twitchy motion's. Still for all his scanning and careful glances he almost missed the lump in the middle of the road when the snow began to shift. Suddenly the dinnof battle from the fort behind him seemed to go silent. He wasnt sure if his allies were saying anything as he could only hear his own heartbeat in his ears as he watched the large form rise from the road. Still his body moved on its own, a good thing as his mind had seemed to go blank. He knocked the arrow in his hand and was just about to fire when he noticed the ditch skittering creature and he shifted his aim to that creature letting an arrow fly directly at its jagged maw. Unsatisfied he would already be reaching back into his quiver before his first shot even hit the target.

Knocking Two arrows simultaneously, he would quickly draw and loose them both at the same insect like elk aberration. As far as his limited cognitive capacity was concerned it looked faster and indeed moved quicker than the first. If he could pick that thing off it would make it easier to focus on the larger beast and wear it down with his allies. He shouted aloud hoping to direct his allies and coordinate with them, at least filling them in on his plans…but all that came out was “KILL IT KILLIT!!!” He shouted in a frantic tone that sounded to be having fun…despite that being the furthest from the truth. His nervous habit of smiling was still in effect apparently and it made it sound as if his frantic shouting was being uttered through a smile.

Actions
1. Basic Attack on Smaller creature.
2. Nocking 2 more arrows (Prepare for attack)
3. Ability- Double Tap: (Range F, Hotshot F) Both arrows at Smaller creature.

When they head out on the path away from shelter, Rachel once more fell completely silent. She was focused, always facing forward, her face far too calm for the situation at hand. This winter, even if it felt like it was waiting for her to die so it could swallow her whole before she was taken into safety, it had always been with her since the beginning of this strange pilgrimage whether she'd like it or not; whether it was in her surroundings, in her body or in her dreams. When she looked at her palms one more time on the way, snowflakes resting on her once warm skin, they did not appear as signs of frostbite anymore. Now, the snow feels more like a friend. White, soft and pure, just like...

The heavy stomps crunching into the snow-covered ground snapped her out of her long train of thought, realization sinking in as the inconspicuous mound before her grew in size and began showing its true colors. A monster beyond her own limited imagination, limbs contorted with bone growing and sticking out of their flesh in cold air, black ichor dripping, oozing and popping endlessly from its mutilated husk of a body. Two in fact, flanking on her group from two sides, equally horrific as the first one.

Rachel froze for a moment. She has felt lost many times before, always unsure what to do unless someone came to tell her, but only once has he ever truly felt this feeling of being trapped. She either would have ran away or stayed in the comforts. This time, there's no easy escape. Her hand kept twitching at the belt on her waist, was she shivering from the cold again? Or was she hesitating?

Rachel, Little Lamb...

It called out to her again, momentarily taking her out of the terrifying encounter. When it came, her eyes snapped open, and for a short moment, everyone and everything blurred out into nothing and she saw nothing but trees and white snow.

Light a torch, then the ritual shall begin.

As Bromann let loose his arrows at the smaller creature, if he were to look at her by his side in his moment of nervousness, he would see her eyes had locked in on the same target as his as she slowly reached into her white wool cloak. From it, she slid out something that is a complete contrast to her otherwise harmless appearance, its unusual nature starting with a glint of a steel that shouldn't even shine light with everything blocking the sun from ever fully reaching it.

A sinister-looking dagger with a sharp crooked blade like the fire of a lit candle, its handle of dark wooden texture although mostly covered by her hand can be seen bearing hints of scorched marks. She then adjusted her grip, allowing her to keep the blade pointed down and tighten her grasp on it in a particular stance.

Her face showed grim determination in the face of the morbid creatures at first, before turning slightly at Bromann, her scrunched brows softening for a more amiable expression. "Mister... I never asked your name, didn't I? That was very rude of me. My name is Rachel, Rachel Backe, and I would like to borrow one of your arrows for a moment, please." She raised her free hand already expecting his cooperation, a dim glow of color glowing at her fingertips.

Actions:
1. Should Bromann offer her his arrow, her hand emits a warm glow. She casts Hellblight on the arrow, its hellish flame, small and contained, now coating its point and holds onto it, basking in the small light. - Hellblight [E]

2. Aim the arrow towards the smaller monster.

3. Throw - Hurl the burning arrow towards the smaller monster.

Character: Curly Butterfly
Status: Prepared

As they left the bastion behind, Curly rode within the ironbelle ahead of the rest.
The icy winds and snowy grounds left no blemishes or hindrance in its path as heating agents pumped throughout its metal shell.
As they journeyed towards the west, their path growing narrow and hefty with the frozen elements, the mecha hummed pleasantly to block out the cries of winter. If no others had a thing to say, itself would fill in the deafening silence with mechanical music.

Curly, for his part, quietly kept to himself.
He had nothing much to say to the others–he hardly knew anyone here, and he doubted anything he said would've boosted morale or bonds as they headed towards danger. So he did what he thought would be best for everyone; moving ahead, serving as their shield. Time in his father’s mecha circus did have him occasionally fighting the other performers on a wide spectacle, and while the Ironbelle hadn’t been tested in combat yet, he felt confident in its capabilities.
He helped make it, after all.

Every thought, every movement, and even the pleasant humming from the mecha stalled when a creature–no… a monster, broke from beneath the snow. Features of a bear were there, but it was so warped and twisted by bone, rotten meat, and ice, you couldn’t even call it an animal. But it was the smell that truly shook him, so foul it made his eyes water “gahdamn!”.
Yet as he looked at the creature, he couldn’t help but be both disgusted by it, and almost pitiful for it. Big, slow, crying… he didn’t know why he felt such sympathy for it, even for a moment.

Curly’s arm flared, knocking him back into the moment. Gripping onto his controls, his voice rang out to the others with a boom.
“I don’t know what the hell that thing is, but if it makes any moves, y'all get behind me!”.
As he stepped in front of the group, the metal fans concealed on the wrists of the mecha fold into large, solid disks, serving as their shields.

Actions:
1. Ability: Ironclad (defensive)(Hardening F - Fighting Style [Tessenjutsu] [Fans] F).
2. Wait for an on-coming attack.

When the gates gave way, Andrea danced forward. Her feet barely leaving steps in the heavy snow. Her arms crossed for extra warmth within her cloak. All the while, her tattered cloak swayed with the winter wind as she took the lead at first. Yet, as the cries of soldiers and the symphony of steel alerted her freezing ears, she fell back. Her ruby gaze watched as her companions walked past her. The Troubled Mercenary, The Eager Archer, The Silent Mage, The Faithful Girl, and The Metal Warrior. Each one with their own troubles, hopes, dreams, and nightmares. If she was the same little girl in chains, this would be the group of heroes her father would have weaved together. Would she be part of the story her father weaved? She begged the hells below that this wouldn't be the case. To anyone that would listen, this shouldn't be the case.

Andrea forced herself to push forward. Even at the bickering objections of her voice. While her feet broke the snow, she eyed Bromann curiously offering a small look to provide some comfort towards him. “Careful. It's good to be alert, but not at the point of getting a sprained ankle.” Andrea jested, then turned towards the metal warrior with an interested look. Unsure what kind of armor he wore, how it worked, how useful it might be. Examining the craftsmanship with an admiring eye. Perhaps the man inside the armor might provide the castings of such craft. She opened her mouth to ask, but that was when the rot grabbed her noise. At that moment she froze.

Her step, heart, and mind, all stopped. The smell of rot of the creature, the twisted form, the dim pulse that echoed with an envious heartbeat. All reminders of home. All reminders of Him. At that moment, her eyes were completely enveloped with a bright emerald green. Her fingers undressed her dagger from the sheath. Cracked and embroidered with runes that tasted her heart and soul. With gritted teeth and eyes that burned with fury and malice she stepped forward towards the bear. Stopping for a moment to eye the metal warrior before shaking her head, returning her focus onto the bear. “A creature that deserves a better master.”

Andrea threw off her head, her silver hair passing through the wind as her emerald eyes focused on the bear. Eyeing the creature, not with pity but with desire. With a tilted head to the left, she glanced towards curly and gestured towards Rachel, Thorne and Bromann.”They need your shields the most. I don't see much armor on them. That, Herculean is mine.” Andrea's voice declared with the same ethereal tone that Axol heard before. Without a moment later she moved around the shield with a possessive glare at the creature. “It's always a shame when I find something like you so openly shown. Fret not, we will take better care of you.” Andrea rushed forward leaping forward with elven grace until she landed on the creature back and proceeds to stab the creature with furious grace.

Actions:
Moved towards the bear
Basic attack on bear

The first arrow struck the smaller creature with a sharp crack, driving deep into the warped plates along its side. Black vapor burst outward in a furious hiss as the beast shrieked — a high, scraping note that split the cold air like breaking ice. The second volley hit moments later, one shaft biting into its back while the other glanced off its fused antlers in a spray of frost.

Enraged, the creature lunged.

Snow erupted beneath its limbs as it barreled forward, dragging its twisted hooves in long, gouging furrows. Its jaws gnashed wildly, steam pouring from the pit where a face should have been.

Before it reached flesh, Ironbelle thundered into place.

The mecha’s shields locked with a heavy clang just as the monster’s weight slammed against them. The impact rang through the clearing like struck anvils — metal grinding against bone, claws skittering across reinforced plates. Frost shattered around the frame, but the shield-line held, halting the creature’s momentum and forcing it back with a frustrated snarl.

Across the clearing, a flash of emerald light split the air.

The enchanted projectile struck the larger beast in a burst of sickly green flame, carving a ragged crater into the frost-slick hide along its shoulder. Chunks of frozen sinew and rotten meat sprayed across the snow in dark arcs. A single rib snapped loose, spinning end over end before embedding itself upright in the drift.

The monster staggered.

Its bulk swayed, locomotion faltering for the first time — not from pain, but from shock. The pulse within its hollow chest flickered, dimmed… then flared violently, as though anger stoked its corrupted heart.

Before it could steady itself, steel met flesh.

Andrea was already there — a blur against the beast’s towering silhouette. Her blade pierced the frozen hide at the base of the creature’s neck, runes burning faintly as they bit deep. Thick, dark sludge hissed from the wound, steaming as it hit the snow. The monster bellowed, a guttural, hollow noise that shook the air and sent a cascade of frost spilling from the branches overhead.

The clearing shifted.

The larger abomination twisted violently, trying to dislodge the attacker clinging to its back. Massive limbs swept through the air in brutal arcs, carving trenches through the snow with every movement. Its pulse — that unnatural green glow — throbbed harder, brighter, in anger.

The smaller creature, still locked against Ironbelle’s shields, changed tactics.

It skittered sideways, jagged limbs stabbing into the ground as it tried to slip around the metal wall and toward the less-armored travelers. Clods of churned snow and icy soil scattered behind it, its momentum jerky and frantic.

---

[/hr]

Ooc:

Alright. Curly successfully blocked the smaller creature. But it's working it's way around the shields.

Bromann landed a hit while the other glanced off.

Rachel's arrow went off just barely in time to not hurt her and deal a glancing blow to the larger monster.

Andreas basic attack has the larger beast preoccupied now. But it won't last long.

Still not within melee range but they will be next turn.

You can take this turn to charge forward and meet it or to run back and put distance between the monsters and yourselves.