ELENA
we had discovered
an accursed country.
an accursed country.
No one sane would be out in the deadly cold that was a Deepfrost night in Snowcloak. Which meant, of course, that far too many people were. It felt as if there had barely been time to gasp for breath after death and destruction had left so many lives gone and shattered. To have another death so soon after and by dragon, of all things, was more than some people could take.
So it wasn't surprising that some tried to drown their pain in alcohol. Once upon a time, Elena would have joined them. But after the death of so many of the Citadel's protectors, the retired guard had taken it upon herself to patrol at night. Her family had tried to discourage her at first, until she'd swept the legs from beneath her spouse's brother and pinned him to the floor. She was no creaky elder to be coddled and protected and she certainly wasn't going to let her injury stop her from making sure no one died from idiocy and exposure.
Bundled for the weather, sword strapped to her belt, and supported her ursur bone cane instead of her spear, Elena's first clue that something is going on around the Kraai is the drunkards who stumble past. More than one is slurring curses and something about an outsider bastard? Mouth pulled in a tight line, Elena marched toward the building which should rightfully be closed to any customers while the Hale boy was mourning.
"What in Mort's realm is going on in here?" Her words are clipped, tone as icy as the temperature outside. The door swings shut behind her and she surveys the mess and the scattered sober folk -- likely peope who were taking refuge in the Kraai -- cleaning up.
So it wasn't surprising that some tried to drown their pain in alcohol. Once upon a time, Elena would have joined them. But after the death of so many of the Citadel's protectors, the retired guard had taken it upon herself to patrol at night. Her family had tried to discourage her at first, until she'd swept the legs from beneath her spouse's brother and pinned him to the floor. She was no creaky elder to be coddled and protected and she certainly wasn't going to let her injury stop her from making sure no one died from idiocy and exposure.
Bundled for the weather, sword strapped to her belt, and supported her ursur bone cane instead of her spear, Elena's first clue that something is going on around the Kraai is the drunkards who stumble past. More than one is slurring curses and something about an outsider bastard? Mouth pulled in a tight line, Elena marched toward the building which should rightfully be closed to any customers while the Hale boy was mourning.
"What in Mort's realm is going on in here?" Her words are clipped, tone as icy as the temperature outside. The door swings shut behind her and she surveys the mess and the scattered sober folk -- likely peope who were taking refuge in the Kraai -- cleaning up.
we had found
the home of the blizzard
the home of the blizzard
