Hassan
General Wendy Margir
The inn

The general blinked, not noticing how small the space was between them until there were no words to fill it. In silence, she couldn't bring herself to do anything besides simply stare at Taichar. Even outside, in the elements, situated among the harshness of the cold, he'd never seemed this intimidating before—flitting around, from his tent and back again. He'd just seemed nothing more than an artifact. A silly story about clans and nomads come to life. 

Now, she could feel cold beads of sweat trace her back. The room felt smaller, the air thinner. She hadn't felt this threatened, since..

Suddenly, Wendy took several steps back, reaching for her hip. Usually, a sword would be there, attached by a belt. The general glanced to her right. Both of which were now leaned up against the bedside table. 

She snapped her attention toward Taichar again, her frown deepening. She wasn't accustomed to this. Any of her underlings always seemed intimidated by her in one way or another. Stories of her less-than-kind interrogations were common among the barracks. And if a fellow was unlucky enough to _really_ piss her off, she had no issue humiliating him in front of his peers.

But Taichair wasn't born and bred among the Witherland infantry. His respect wasn't tailored and fashioned. In fact, it was nonexistent. And Wendy simply didn't know how to function without it.

"Your _compassion_ and _rule-following_ didn't save your clan, did it?" The woman finally said. She stood straight again, lifting her chin. "Lecture me about chivalry when you actually have something to protect. In the meantime, you're dismissed. Get out of my room."

This time, she didn't flinch. Her heart was still racing, but she didn't falter. She held her hands behind her back, her shoulders square. 

But her fingers were shaking.
Ellen
Taichar-Yu
The Inn

No man could have challenged him more than those he had met outside this inn, in the wilds, in his past life. Until Wendy. It was impossible for him to step down so deeply to a woman that only *Claimed* To be a general and have a handful of men. He had yet to see her do anything of interest besides boss some grunts around. 

He watched her reach for her sword and his arms outstretched almost instantaneously before they fell upon realizing she had no sword. He looked to the nightstand to where the swords were and back to Wendy. 

Humiliation was foreign to him. Interrogations in an equally mysterious light, they just didn't happen where he was from. He thanked whatever being was watching him that he knew nothing about this woman to be afraid of. He could prance around her all he liked and he'd always be one cautious step ahead of her. He listened to her talk and suddenly this wasn't very entertaining anymore. 

The look he gave her could only be described as death incarnate. His posture became rigid and his jawline clenched. The ledges of his teeth were visible through his lip from how incredibly tight he was pursing them. `He was coming after her now.` You don't *Say* Things like that to people like him, and now he had a very firm reason to antagonize her beyond a pretty poor plan in her personal opinion. He breathed shallowly, "Remind me when the last time that attacking in peacetime like a fucking barbarian was chivalrous. Like you're any better than me— we are both far from saint-like. Talk to me tomorrow when you think about the way you sound right now." He said it after what felt like hours of his bugged eyes boring into her very being. Even though he was the one being dismissed, he carried the authority where the tables very well could have been turned oppositely.

He left silently to his bedroom. He was careful to lock the door and undress for a bath. 

The water was cold.
Hassan
General Wendy Margir
The inn

Wendy didn't let go of her breath until Taichar left, feeling her shoulders almost crack from how tense they'd become. She stumbled back and braced herself against the window, feeling the chill from outside seep in through the panes. Eyes closed, the woman slid down and held her head in her hands, trying to breathe in deeply. She still felt as if she were suffocating. 

_No, no, no_ she thought to herself, wiping her eyes. It had been years since she'd had a panic attack like this one. Her head pounded, and she felt as if her throat was collapsing in on itself. _Calm down,_ she thought to herself, furiously wiping her eyes free from tears. 

She hadn't actually felt _fear_ for a man since one unfortunate night in her training camp, nearly 10 years ago. And since then, she'd vowed to return that fear, tenfold.

That just wouldn't be the case with Taichar, though. 

Wendy almost regretted not giving the order to shoot him down, when she truly did have the upper hand. She may have unwittingly made a terrible mistake.

————————————————

_The next morning_

Wendy latched the last of her armor around her left forearm, the material tightly woven to be protective, but cast in a dark luster so as not to be easily noticed. She grabbed her black cloak, trimmed with gray wolf's fur, as she walked out of the room, letting the door swing behind her.

A few of her men, Galen included, were already huddled in the foyer. They looked as if they rested well, at least.

As for her, heavy bags rested under her eyes. Her cheeks were rubbed red, almost raw, from her furious refusal of tears the night previous. She descended the stairs silently, going to the counter to pay their fares for the night.
Ellen
Taichar-Yu
The Inn

It was a restless night. The world was quiet outside the window, the moon peering at him with a watching eye as he slowly scrubbed the dirt off of his body in the washbin. They were one room apart. He did, inwardly, feel something he could not put a finger on. An admirable respect and yet a hatred that he had not felt himself tap into ever since the massacre. 

He slid a hand down his shoulder, standing in waning candlelight with his nude body exposed to the room. He felt venerable like a caged animal, being jeered at and toyed with even in the silent and sleepy hours of the night. Water ran down his frame and his eyes slowly closed. 

If he could take it all back, he didn't know for sure if he would. There was a like-dislike ratio that never seemed to truly settle in how he felt about people. He barely knew this woman. Why think like that? He hummed softly in thought and he felt himself slipping from himself. Taichar climbed out of the washbasin and slowly toweled off. As he brought the towel down his face, he had a miraculous vision: this was destined to be. He was destined to meet this woman, and by compulsion he reasoned he was destined to die by her.

————————————————————————————————————————

Taichar-Yu was the very first person to be in the lobby and the very first to leave. He was freshly washed and fully suited up, his wooden cuirass and reed skirt beneath his thick elder coat, but he was nowhere to be seen at first. 

From the windows in the lobby, he was seen sitting several paces from the front door and skinning the rest of his rabbits in the snow. His face was hardened and his eyes were clouded in thought, chewing through what had happened last night in deep contemplation. By him was his tankard, steaming with a delectable tea. 

He was truly in his element. And yet, he had the opportunity to be with people, these were strangers. He was yet again alone.
Hassan
General Wendy Margir
The inn

As Wendy finished paying, she turned and took a quick head count. All six were there, checking over their gear and stretching the sleepiness from their limbs. The gentle morning light filtered in through the dusty windows, the snow outside making it all seem brighter. 

"Where's Taichar?" Wendy asked, as she placed her hand on the door handle.

"Already outside, ma'am. He's been out there for some time, now," Galen said, nodding toward one of the windows. 

Confusion passed over the woman's face as she stepped back a few paces to peer at Taichar through the window. He was crouched over, similar to the night before, staring down at... Whatever he was working on.

_Another rabbit?_ she thought.

Wendy rolled her eyes and stepped forward again, grabbing the door and swinging it behind her. 

"What are you doing?" She asked as she approached the for
Ellen
Taichar-Yu
The Inn

Of course it was more rabbit. It was the rabbit from the previous night. Everything had been skinned and he was meticulously and carefully cutting the rabbit into strips before laying them back in the salted box for preservation. The fur he was sewing togethe, having trimmed the excess and had a partially-sewn square of fur for perhaps a new coat or to sell. Whatever it was, it had purpose. The fat he had jarred and was packed down for lantern fuel. 

"I am taking care of last night's hunt. Since we had rushed off so quickly, I hadn't had a chance to finish what I am doing." He calmly stated. He stopped his needlework to look up at her and he meakly smiled. His eyes were bloated with red, swollen bags from a poor night of sleeping. His face was clean and his beard freshly trimmed. His eyes said that he was overwhelmingly glad to see the woman but his smile faltered into a dismayed frown— realizing that she was probably not that happy to see him. 

He picked up the salted box and jar, rolling the fur and tucking it under his arm as he stood up. His knees hurt from working in the snow and he grimaced. His head was murky, swirling silver, thinking of stars and moonlight and when he was truly by himself.

"Are we leaving already?" He asked with a stifled yawn. The rabbit was a concern not only because he did not want it to go bad and be wasted, but, he also needed food if he were to be on the run for several days. He had that continually bad feeling broiling in his stomach that tossed his insides like fierce waves. A storm was coming. He sensed it in the air and the cold bitterness of the morning had an underlaying wetness to it— rain. It had yet to come however and his instincts set him on edge.
Raul
Scarlett Prynne
In a city that will be determined eventually

Scarlett tugged her emerald green cloak tighter around her as a gust of wind whipped around her, wrenching at her cloak and making her tousled red curls even more unruly. It was a bitter wind, just as every wind in the Witherlands was, and Scarlett couldn't help but wonder what disease that wind might carry with it. She shuddered a little at the thought and glanced around the largely deserted street. Those that dared go outside avoided eye contact and gave everyone a wide berth, including Scarlett, but for the most part, the city was little more than a frozen corpse, a mere skeleton of the bustling city it had once been. 

She held a silk scarf, given to her by one of her clients, over her nose and mouth as she bustled along down the street. It had been doused with perfume and herbs to keep the plague at bay, or at least that's what she was told those things would do, and it the perfume would mask the stench of rotting flesh and gaping pustules, should any appear. Scarlett intended to be far from the city when that happened though. Besides, business was slow lately, not that she could really take on any clients anyway. Not without incredible risk. It was dangerous enough to be passing people on the street, let alone helping them with their carnal desires. 

Yet her profession was quite evident, with her painted lips and eyes and a scarlet letter stitched to the bosom of her dress that denoted it as well, as if it weren't already obvious. Really though, she stood out just for her figure and her immaculate, though somewhat scandalous dress.

Certainly not rich by any means, she had made decent wages in the past few years, before the plague came, and she was now depending on the money she had saved to make her escape from this cesspool, just as so many of the other residents had done when word of the plague had reached them. While the plague had not yet reached this city, it was spreading so quickly that its arrival was inevitable, and when it did... Well, given the accounts of the dead in other cities, it would likely happen here as well.

Scarlett intended to escape before that happened. She wasn't sure exactly where she would go just yet. Perhaps somewhere in the country? Somewhere where the disease would have fewer hosts and wouldn't travel so quickly; where it would be easier to avoid contact with others. Who knows? Maybe she would be able to find another job and get out of the business. Either way, she intended to get out of here today. She had already hired a carriage that would take her south to Taemar, where it was a little warmer and where the plague had not been quite as devastating, according to rumors she had heard. Now she just had to get her trunk of belongings there, though with as tightly as she had packed it with dresses and shoes and all her other belongings, she had no idea how she was going to carry it. 

She had always been good at playing the damsel in distress and manipulating the feelings of men to suit her needs, however, so she wasn't particularly concerned about finding someone to carry it for her. She just needed to spot the perfect candidate...
Darrell
Calder Alaric
In a city that will be determined eventually

All these rumours of a plague was... Concerning, to say the least. Whether people were saying it was just a common cold or a killer disease that raised the dead, one thing was clear; the world was on the verge of turning to anarchy. Normally, that would be a good thing. Less people around meant less chance of being killed by one. But people would run to the isolated forests, and Calder would be the first one to be found. It was a mark of their desperation that some people were trekking out of the village, giving him suspicious glances. Although that may have less to do with the plague and more with the armour and wicked axe that clearly marked him as a warrior.

The sounds of society were more... Dull than other times he'd visited villages like this. No merchants barking their wears. No men bringing in a constant stream of firewood. Not even children playing in the streets. Any people that weren't in their homes were running around with a lot of haste. A woman, a noble by the silk scarf she held to her mouth, a prostitute by the dress made to allure men, was rushing by. Without experience in the wilderness, it was likely she'd die soon. Either from the plague, if it was on it's way here, or from hunger trying to avoid it. Even here, with people going about their business, there was much avoidance and the tension was akin to a town knowing an army was about to descend on them. Every once in a while, a man looked outside, hefting swords or axes or halberds, as if expecting chaos to erupt any moment. Or maybe they were looking at the man in snow-covered steel, wondering what his armour would be worth.

Calder ran his gloved thumb over the blade of his axe. Looks like he might be killing today.
Raul
Scarlett Prynne
In a city that will be determined eventually

Scarlett scurried along, her skirts swishing about her, her eyes scanning the streets for someone that looked healthy and strong enough to carry the large steamer trunk filled with her belongings. One might know it, based on how quickly she could move in the rather voluminous dress, but the fabrics were thick and sturdy, making them incredibly heavy. Granted, to be warm enough to survive in the Witherlands, clothes had to be made from thick fabrics. 

As she walked, she noticed the tall, massive, beefy man across the street, moving in the opposite direction. Now there was an interesting candidate. He looked more than strong enough to carry the trunk; he looked strong enough to carry it like it were no more than a feather! He also looked rather intimidating... The armor, as well as the massive axe in his hand, was certainly off-putting. He looked like he was just about ready to chop someone into bits! Still, she had learned from her clients that what appeared to be the truth was not always so. And right now, her options were *Severely* Limited. 

Well, she could test his chivalry quickly. The standard test. She "Tripped" And fell, letting out a faint little cry before plummeting to the earth, then whimpered as she held her ankle. Always effective.
Hassan
General Wendy Margir
The Inn

"We are leaving," She said, keeping her statements short. It didn't feel good, to repay his gladness with nothing short of contempt, but she couldn't shake her anger. Out here, she could save face. Even now, as she heard the grunts and soft jangling of the approaching mountain horses and their reins led by loyal men, she felt more powerful than she had in the past twelve hours. 

"Keep in mind that as a unit, we stay together, unless I've given instruction otherwise. If you'd like to tend to your own food, that's fine. But do it well before we are ready to leave. Understood?" 

She momentarily focused her gaze on the rabbit, now separated in neat strips within the salted box. 

"I suppose I wouldn't mind trying some, if you are still keen on sharing," The woman said. She considered it an attempt at an olive branch, even if it was a poor one. She'd refused his previous attempts, after all.
Ellen
Taichar-Yu
The Inn

"Oh, yes. I'm sorry— I didn't want to wake you and I had my things to take care of. I've been attending my things for, eh, maybe the past three hours. It's a timely process that takes much focus and forethougt." He said in dismissal. He started to turn in order to go get his things.


As he started walking back towards the inn to grab the rest of his stuff, he didn't realize she had been serious in her intentions of asking for some rabbit. He slowly turned on the front of his foot and looked at her like he'd been dehydrated and laid his eyes on a river. Thankfulness. His horse snorted in annoyance as the sleepy beast watched. Rather than taking his horse to the stables, he had tied it up a considerably closer distance. *He had considered running off.*

He walked back to her with timid steps and opened the box's lid. It slid off like a carton of cigarettes'. The strips of rabbit were darkening with the preservation process and as he opened the lid back, the smell of familiar cracked pepper and some sort of milky cream they had been marinating in. He had been working quite tirelessly and had been outside before the sun was even up. 

Taichar did not sleep for more than a wink and his head was drooping as he fished a strip from the box and offered it to her. The rabbit was darkened to a medium consistency with an orange hue. Grains of salt and peppercorn clung to its surface.
Darrell
Calder Alaric
In a city that will be determined eventually

Calder wasn't surprised to see that the woman had tripped over her own feet while staring at him. Many village people saw guards and soldiers, but he had often been told that he had an intimidating aura.

Putting his axe back in its loop and forcing himself to let go of it, he swooped down and picked up the woman by grabbing her upper arms.
"If you wanna fall over, do it inside. Better to snap your neck than to freeze to death. At least, that's what I've been told. Someone of your... Inclination shouldn't put herself in a vulnerable position if she can help it. In public, at least."