Tammy
Lord Nathaniel Vivayn
Southern Border, Wingsway 

The snow crunched under the Rogue Lord's feet, as the heavy blessing from the Frozen Gods cast down on their chosen son's fortress. Days it had been going at that, point, it had to have been. It felt like eons since the even the faint silver glistens that the sun dared to shine upon this miserable wasteland. It seemed all life, all semblance of joy and feeling had forsaken the largest Kingdom in Marin. Perhaps that had always been the case, perhaps those that dwelled in such an inhospitable place and called it home didn't know joy or feeling. Now only darkness consumed the land. Darkness and death. The Chosen One saw that as an omen. If this round of civilisation had failed itself, it was time to wipe the slate clean and start anew. Then the lands would be pure again. 

"Hundreds... Maybe thousands, in only a few days. They all came pouring in. In all my years, I had never seen anything like it," Sir Roland Ultrott said, a senior Knight in service to House Vivayn for years, wrapping his cloak around his armour as he led his lord up the edge of the cliff. 

"You've seen hundreds of battles, Sir Roland. *Thousands* Of deaths. What bestirs you so this time around?" Lord Nathaniel Vivayn enquired, as they came to a halt nearing the edge of the cliff. 

There was a silence initially, as the cold winds attacked them, causing their cloaks to flap aimlessly like lost children. Sir Roland turned to his Lord. "There's something about them, my lord. I was first response along with my twenty swords. We all saw them, grasping, begging, howling like street urchins-"

"That's what they are," Nathaniel chimed in.

—
"I've never seen a street urchin, peasant nor low born peel and tear the skin from beneath their eyes because it "Burnt too much". I've never seen a man vomit blood that looked like tar. I've never heard a small girl scream so loud. Something has them, my lord." Sir Roland gave a gruff breath, looking straight ahead. 

"It's nature taking its course," The Skeleton Lord replied, still, and ever watchful over the horizon. That made Sir Roland turn his head to his liege with revulsion. 

"You can't rule a Kingdom if there aren't any people to rule, my lord," Sir Roland insisted. 

Lord Vivayn removed the cowl covering his mouth and breathed in audibly, closing his pale, pale eyes as he did so, almost as if in ecstasy, as if he were being rejuvenated. "When I toasted my people to "New blood", I meant it. This batch is corrupted, Sir Roland. The time has come to cleanse the land," He prophesied. 

"As you say, Your Grace.." Sir Roland acquiesced, with his old calloused hands teetering on the pommel of his sword. "But even so, perhaps it is time to take them down. A week was enough. Now, the Snow Crows have had at them, only the Frozen Gods know what will befall the creatures now."

—
"That was my intention, sir. I've assigned Calzhor to analyse the birds that have consumed the flesh. Perhaps he will offer us a conclusion for how this outbreak started. If not well, from what I understand, the Snow Crows are becoming even more... Hyperactive, shall we say," Nathaniel said as he spied a swarm of the creatures overhead, miles down the border, circling the fires his armies had started to dispose of the corpses. As he focused his hearing, he could listen to the awful, shrill squawks they made, sounding as if they were possessed. Their hunger for flesh was even greater than before. Nathaniel smiled at them as he walked closer to the edge of the cliff. As his ominous gaze went downwards, his expression went from satisfied wonder to... Blissful awe. His face was a blank canvas, almost unreadable. But his empty voids for eyes glistened with an almost orgasmic pleasure as he saw them again. Plastered atop the walls, strung up like animals were the ones afflicted with the illness that tried to enter the Witherlands for asylum. Their carcasses went either east or west across the bordered walls, for as long as the eye could see. 

"The message has been received, my lord. It's time take them down," Sir Roland spoke mournfully. 

"No," Nathaniel uttered breathlessly, looking at them without blinking. "They travelled all this way for haven against the disease. I have given them haven."
Steven
Tiny Vik
Next to a child, but not in a weird way.

Vik giggled softly, actually enjoying the hug for a moment, it was the first since he became who he was.

"Anything for my friends. In fact Maren, I want you to know that you can call on me whenever you want another gift." Vik reached into one of the many pockets within his sleeves and produced a glowing marble that pulsed with a dull swirl of many colors. He had given an identical marble to the Durkhan boy, although he hadn't used it yet.

"If you break this it'll let me know you want to chat again, and no matter where you may be, as long as you're still on Marin I'll pop up." He giggled before holding the magical bead out to the child.

"Now then, would you like some stew?" Vik turned to his boiling cauldron that now bubbled with a brown mess of carrots and venison, the white powder he poured in having fully rehydrated by now.
Stephen
Maren Tockett
Next to a Godling, but not in a weird way

Maren carefully took the marble and held it close, pulling up the three shawls, the furs, and Vik's blanket to set it in her dress pocket, secure and hidden from others. "Thank you..." She seemed touched, perhaps because he referred to her as a friend.

Her eyes seemed to light up at the sound of food, and she looked.Over at the hot meal with desire. If the Godling spoke of desire, surely he would get a kick out of the innocent longing for a warm meal in her chocolate eyes. She looked back over at him and nodded, she seemed to have the need to actively keep her mouth shut from being ajar with amazement at the mere smell of the simple dish.

"Is there enough for both of us? I'll have what you don't finish..." She said respectively, bobbing her head. Larger than a nod, smaller than a bow. She was used to scraps gone cold, but she would hate to be seen as selfish now.
Steven
Tiny Vik
The Witherlands

Vik giggled loudly as he pulled two large bowls from his bag.

"Of course I made enough for two. Besides Maren, I don't get hungry like you do." He ladled the chunky soup into each of the bowls and handed one to the child after giving it a small purple fork. Vik decided against the spoon, preferring to just drink the stew from the lip of the bowl. He raised it to the shadowy mouth of his gilded mask, the darkness that prevented his real face from being seen extending out so that his lips could reach the utensil.
Stephen
Maren Tockett
With a purple fork!

Purple was such a rare color to see! She eyed the fork and then immediately drew her attention back to the stew she had been given. She dug in, savoring each bite and sighing, wheezing practically with satisfaction. Oh, her tummy would feel so nice.

She ate it, munched, and finally, the child smiled a small smile as she felt the warmth spread to every inch of her body. She even wiggled her toes with delight as she chowed down. She looked at Vik eat and became curious about something.

"Tiny Vik, it seems ya don't take that mask off. What happens when you get a runny nose? Does your mask fill with boogies?"