Kettlemarsh, [Zaman, Galia, Welkin]

[Ephram Matthiasen]

Two scouts missing and still no news from the village of Kettlemarsh.

Ephram wouldn't argue that the situation wasn't odd, but he did have to wonder why he was leading the group investigating the situation. He was a knight, not a scout, and he hadn't fully grasped the severity of the situation. The winter was proving to be difficult on travelers, and he wasn't convinced that the lack of communication from Kettlemarsh wasn't simply due to the people of the village focusing on themselves and avoiding sending anyone out into the snow needlessly.

Now, the failure for the scouts to return on time was somewhat more concerning, but did that require multiple scouting parties to be sent out? Was there not someone more qualified for this than him? This had him thinking yet again that the queen meant to harm him in some way, but even if that wasn't the case-- lives were being put at risk. It was cold, and much of Escova had snow upon the ground, and if there was some threat present that had caused trouble for Kettlemarsh and the lost scouts, Anders and Fabian . . .

Needless to say, Ephram wasn't eager to lead the three people following behind him now.

Despite all these thoughts, he hadn't argued at all upon receiving his orders. Instead he prepared himself and got straight to business. While he might have been more chatty to take the others' minds off the cold during the trip and to try to put the others at ease under normal circumstances, he was traveling with troubled thoughts and a heavy heart. He didn't have it in him this time to be much of a leader. He had every intention of getting the job done and doing whatever was necessary, but being friendly on top of that seemed impossible.

By the time night fell on this particular day, he had every intention of arriving in Kettlemarsh, but the sun was setting now. The air was becoming even colder, and winds were starting to whip around the scouts and the sturdy legs of the horses, whose hooves were buried under about a foot of snow. They had traveled fairly quickly under the circumstances, but--

"Night will fall before we reach the village," Ephram announced, turning slightly and tugging at the scarf that had been wrapped around the bottom of his face to ensure that he would be heard. "We will continue until we find it, then hopefully find shelter there until morning."

. . . and hopefully there would be some hospitable hosts waiting for them.

[Welkin Njordson]

Welkin really hated the snow now. It wasn't so charming when you'd spent weeks traveling and floundering through it, shivering until nothing was still. His jaw hurt from the effort it took to keep his teeth from chattering. He wondered if it would have been better to walk through the snow, to move. Sitting still on the horse was almost torture.

And he heard from locals that this wasn't even a real winter to them. Finding another ship and heading south was sounding better by the second.

He flexed his hands when their leader spoke. He didn't know the man very well, but he was glad Galia was in his group. He was less glad Zaman was in the group, but he figured it was too much to hope he'd be alone with her.

Sadly, it was almost too cold to think about sex. He frowned at the knight's words. "I don't think traveling at night in the snow is a good idea," he said, stammering at first. He didn't think anyone had talked in over an hour, if not more. "A horse could step in a hole and break their leg. It's hard enough to see the road in the snow as it is."

[Ephram Matthiasen]

"Well, we aren't camping here," Ephram responded immediately, sounding as though the cold hadn't reached his bones yet. "Kettlemarsh is close. Follow in my path, and your horse should manage to avoid any holes mine fails to step into first." He paused. "If we have to, we can walk the last part of the way."

He didn't like traveling this way, and he certainly didn't want to put anyone in danger, but he didn't think trying to stop here or have the others walk in the snow would be much better. Thankfully, he also wasn't offended by some refugee scout saying his plan was a bad one. A different man- perhaps a better man- would have told the young scout to know his place and shut up, but that certainly wasn't Ephram's way.

"Do any of you have frozen limbs yet?" he asked rather casually.

[Zaman Jaraei]

He was dead.

He had to be dead, because Zaman Jaraei sure as hell wasn't doing this alive. Plodding through the snow, his nose red and raw from both the cold and his constant insistence of rubbing it with his coarse woollen gloves, he was just a little miserable.

Okay, so a lot miserable. The most miserable human.

Ugh.

He picked at the ice that formed over his eyebrows, scrubbing it off as he pointedly stayed somewhere near the back of their charming little convoy. His sword was sheathed against his hip, the cold metal feeling oddly heavy as his mare picked her way through driving snow. Zaman was used to winters—heck he loved winters—but this was one snowstorm too many. Back on Elik, snow wasn't much of a problem. Wind was, and rain was, but never snow like this. It didn't help that he thought he'd look so cool in his sexy new cloak that actually wasn't warm at all. Why was he so stupid sometimes?

Up ahead their leader—a Knight by the name of Ephram Mattnoblesomething—called for more travelling. Night would fall soon but they would push on until they reached the village.

Zaman lifted a hand to signal that he was okay with this idea.

This was followed by a question.

“I can't feel my ass; does that count?” he shouted, making a great effort not to look at Galia. Of all the scouts in Escova, it had to be her they sent, right? Her and that Welkin—his best friend. This was going to be the best journey through a blizzard ever.

[Galia Baryk]

She liked it better when things were silent and the only sound was the echoing crunch of their horses in the snow.

She would have liked it best if she were alone, truth be told, but that had never been an option. It was also completely counter-intuitive to send one lone scout to search for those already missing. Still, Galia wasn't exactly content to be trotting in the footsteps of a knight, whilst being slowed down by a trainee and...that guy. Of anyone, Welkin was of the most use to her, but he wasn't accustomed to the weather. There was no efficiency in this arrangement, and certainly no comfort, either.

Whether the choice to continue on in the darkness was right or not in her opinion, it didn't matter. Galia had no authority here, even if she had wanted to suggest allowing her to -- as befitting her designated role and rank -- scout ahead. Instead, she'd held her tongue, reserving her energy in the event that something important and worth responding to happened.

It wasn't until Zaman decided to be a smart ass that she suddenly found she couldn't help herself. (And wasn't that always the case? Gods, she hated the behavior he brought out in her, and yet...)

"No," she snapped before she could think about it, turning around to stare at him, though he was pointedly looking at anyone else but her. Whatever she thought had been resolved between them had been swiftly unraveled the last time they had to work together; that loose thread remained between them, so tempting to pick at, but best to let alone. Galia didn't allow herself to linger, panning to Mathiasen, instead, as if she had spoken in response to his inquiry all along.

She shook her head, a flurry of snowflakes cascading from her hood and drifting into her line of sight. "No. Stiff, but not frozen. I wouldn't recommend stopping, though I wouldn't mind walking for a short while. Give the horses some relief and get the blood flowing again."

[Zaman Jaraei]

Zaman's gaze snapped to her.

No?

His teeth slid across one another as his jaw tensed. Okay, first of all, he hadn't asked for her opinion, and secondly, what was she even doing talking to him? Zaman had no comebacks for her.

But then she turned away, made it seem as if she hadn't spoken to him at all—which was great because Zaman didn't want to talk to her either. There was a lot of no-talking going on between them and he was just fine with that. Perfectly fine. In fact, not-talking to her was something he did remarkably well. He was an expert at it; a card-carrying member of the 'shut the fuck up' club.

Damn her.

At her suggestion to dismount, Zaman turned to look at their leader. Walking would do them some good, but the prospect of marching through snow was even bleaker than riding through it. And who decided it was a good idea to give him the small, bony horse? He liked the mare and all but really...

And since when did he complain so much? Somehow, he knew this was all Galia's fault. All of it.

[Ephram Matthiasen]

"Walk for a short time if you must," Ephram decided. "You aren't at risk of losing your ass, Jaraei, but you may walk if you still feel as though it's at risk."

He was being a whiner, but Ephram was unwilling to judge him harshly. The weather was difficult, and he had already gathered that there was something unusual going on between the three people sent with him. Why anyone had chosen this group, he couldn't be certain because it just seemed so obvious that there was tension that might interfere with their objectives. . .

Without turning to face the group, he added, "Back on your horse if your toes start to freeze. You may actually lose those."

He would be staying on his horse, as indicated by his refusal to move even slightly. Sure, some motion might have helped to circulate his blood and keep him warm, but he was sure it would also make him more aware of just how cold and uncomfortable he was. As things were, he was doing an okay job of ignoring the discomfort.

"Keep your eyes ahead." And not on the woman. "We should be able to see the village before long."

[Welkin Njordson]

Welkin thought of getting off the horse, but decided against it when the knight mentioned losing toes. Welkin liked all his toes. So he just huddled down further into his coat and woolens and furs, and stared miserably ahead. At least with his ears covered he couldn't hear Zaman's prattling.

After some time, he squinted at the road ahead. There were vague shapes dimly visible through the driving snow. "I see something. Is that the village?" He wasn't sure if they were close or not.

[Galia Baryk]

If she was cold, Galia had made no indication of it. Not to say that she wasn't -- she was still human, regardless of what other people suggested based on her demeanor, but complaining was not in her nature. Her pace was no slower on foot than those mounted; the thick snow put them all to a steady, solemn march, though it was easier for her to lead her horse from the ground than atop it.

With her attention fixed on the path, or what little remained of it, she hadn't seen anything ahead until Welkin spoke up. She switched the hands holding the reins, flexing the cold muscles in the right one before bringing it to shade her eyes. "It can't be," she said aloud, though more to herself than as a correction, blinking back the flurry blowing into her face.

She shook her head. By her calculations, she estimated, "We haven't gone far enough, fast enough." The scout's hand slipped to her waist, hand at the hilt of her dagger. It was the best she could do when unprepared; her bow and quiver were still strapped to the horse. Whatever was looming upon them wasn't the shelter they were looking for.

[Zaman Jaraei]

His boots hit the snow with a crunch.

Patting the hard leather of the saddle, Zaman then grabbed the reins of his horse and began to trudge through the snow, the new sensation in his legs both awkward and welcome. Blood rushed down, straight into his frozen toes. An hour ago, he feared frostbite. He feared pulling off his boots to look at hard and blackened toes.

Now he felt better. He could feel his toes again, and that told him they were still there.

When Welkin called out to everyone, Zaman squinted into the distance, trying to see the dark form through the driving snow. It didn't look like a village. But then again, he'd been wrong before.

Galia confirmed what Zaman guessed, and for whatever reason, he trusted her judgement. His own fingers dropped to his sword, tugging it out as he waited for instructions—or bandits. Or whatever else could be out there.

Whichever came first.

[Ephram Matthiasen]

It was too damn cold and late on this snow-covered road to be acting as a bandit for all of the four people traveling this way. It made no sense for anyone to be looking to make trouble here, but-

"People," Ephram said, narrowing his eyes and watching the dark figures get closer. "Baryk's correct. We're not near enough. Be on your guard."

He wasn't going to consent to attacking without provocation, but this worried him. The time of day, the proximity to the village-- it didn't add up. The conditions weren't good for traveling. As the silhouettes of the figures began to become clearer to his eyes, he determined there were four-- maybe five of them. One was small, a child, he assumed. Yet they moved too quickly, too easily to be refugees of a sort. They couldn't have been traveling long. . .

He was hesitant to even reach for the sword at his side, Instead he continued on, just looking, waiting for some sort of sign that might offer more information about what he should expect when these people finally reached them.

"Don't be drawing weapons without cause," the knight added when he thought to mention it. "They may be coming from Kettlemarsh. We'll have to question them."

. . . but when they came closer, all five of them, and Ephram stopped them to say, "I am Sir Ephram Matthiasen. My companions and I have been sent by the King to see the condition of Kettlemarsh," and ask, "Where have you come from, if I may ask?"

He was met only with four downcast gazes and one of an older woman staring up at him blankly. None of them spoke.

[Welkin Njordson]

Welkin barely heard the knight's mention about weapons. He unwrapped his cloak and visibly gripped a dagger at his belt. He didn't really care that there was a child, or an old woman. Something was wrong, and he wasn't going to be tricked if he could help it.

"What's going on?" he said, switching to Parasi. It was a long shot, but none of them really responded to the knight's Escovan. "Are you all right?"

[Galia Baryk]

Galia had not drawn her weapon, as commanded by the knight, but she had not let go of it, either. She felt stiffer than ever when the figures drew near, and though she couldn't tell that the wind had picked up, a chill shuddered through her body when the group halted. It seemed almost unnatural, as did the silence that persisted even after both Matthiasen and Welkin attempted to communicate with the travelers.

Her horse didn't seem to like it much, either, suddenly stamping in place and trampling down the fresh fallen snow. Galia didn't like the idea of taking her eyes off the strangers for even a second, but she couldn't help turning toward the spooked mare, letting go of the reins so as not to get dragged or injured if the fright escalated. It was a wise decision, at least in the sense that the beast reared up and kicked out only seconds after she had released her lead. The scout backed up toward the rest of her party, closest to Zaman.

"Shit," Galia muttered, as the horse rounded sharply and galloped off in the opposite direction, taking the rest of her gear with it.

[Zaman Jaraei]

So wait.

They were supposed to 'be on their guard' but couldn't draw weapons?

Great.

He slid the steel of his sword back into his scabbard and watched the forms take shape. Dark angles began to sharpen in the darkness, wild faces and wild hair. So typical villagers then. Cool. But only they weren't typical—as was evidenced by the animals in the group. Galia horse did that thing where it didn't like Galia—which was a shocker because she was such a sunny person—and it sprinted off, her belongings bouncing up and down on the empty saddle.

He would have done the stupid thing and offered his own horse to her, but instead, Zaman just grinned at her minor (major?) misfortune. His own horse was pulling back as well, tugging on the reins, insistent. Zaman held it firm, forcing the beast to stay put because he was not going to take its equine bullshit right now.

The horse calmed. Slightly.

"Here, can you hold this?" he asked, holding out the reins to Galia. He didn't actually wait until she took it. He just stepped past her, shoved the reins in her direction, and began the slow trudge towards the others. "Hey, miss—lady?" he waved a hand in front of the older woman's face. "We asked you a ques..." his voice died when the women lowered her gaze to look at him.

Now Yar Zaman Jaraei had seen enough shit in his life to usually get over how fucking awful some things could be. He'd seen battle and skirmishes and bandits. He'd even seen the hard edge of Galia Baryk's temper. But what he saw then caused his blood to freeze. The faces were human—well, ugly-human—but the eyes.

Those fucking eyes.

Glassy and black, they were without pupils and completely devoid of light. It was like staring into the heart of ink, like looking at the space between the stars—but not quite as majestic and non-threatening. The woman's mouth quirked in that instant: a smile. She had rotting, yellowing teeth, but they were enough to draw blood as she tackled him with a scream and snapped her mouth around his exposed jaw.

[Welkin Njordson]

Welkin was not an especially spiritual person, and even though he'd been in Escova less than a year, he still sent a silent prayer toward Tristella when he saw the people's faces. He was somewhat thankful Zaman took the initial brunt of the confrontation, though.

And then it was just a panic. Welkin drew his dagger right as his own horse decided to throw a tantrum, by throwing him from its back. He landed on his side in snowbank and thanked the weather for just that moment. His horse didn't bolt like Galia's did, but it screamed as one of the hollow-eyed people stumbled toward Welkin with teeth bared.

He didn't realize what was happening before the woman, or what had been a woman, jumped on top of him. He threw up an arm and her teeth sliced through linen but not through leather and mail. He drew a dagger from his belt and stabbed her in the throat.

She didn't die. She bled, profusely, but she didn't die. She released his arm and started scrabbling at his face, scratching and hissing.

Welkin stabbed her again and again, in the throat, in the back, even straight through her skull. She kept attacking him. Eventually his grip was so slick with blood that the dagger fell out of his hand and dropped into the snow.

She wasn't dead. She was dripping blood all over him, but she wasn't dead. He could barely see, between he blood that dripped onto his face and her scratching hands. Eventually he found enough purchase in the snow to roll over. She loosened his grip on him and he kept rolling until he was free of her.

His horse was screaming and rearing, but he got the animal under control enough to pull his bow out. It was already strung, and he grabbed an arrow from the quiver on his back and notched it. Then he remembered that it was useless. The woman stumbled toward him, covered in blood, but she still smiled. Welkin stood motionless, bow drawn.