Chris
**Keskil "Bonefingers" – Irongate **
Keskil's elders taught him to pity the Stonefolk who walled themselves in with rocks for fear of the cold. 
They were regarded as fools, the elders taught. Heat was a gift from the Frozen Gods, It is the animator of life and meant to be shared as a candle ignites another. In excess, however, it is what feeds into fever and the hot festering of wounds—it is anger and hate in those who covet heat. 

The cold is painful to those fiery mortals. It is death abated by flame. It is also sleep, tranquility, and purity— the essence of the Frozen Gods themselves, and therefore foolhardy to shun entirely.

The ancient city of Irongate was known to Keskil's tribe, the Qiqirn, as a cautionary tale against the shunning of cold. It was the birthplace of mankind, where the Frozen Gods first bestowed their gifts of fire. The mortal men were prosperous, but they were selfish with their fire, and built walls to keep it in, thus walling out the Gods that bestowed that flame upon them. What became of Northwind now, Qiqirn legends say, is a direct result of that.

*By the Night,* Keskil thought to himself as his gaze wandered up the walls, taller than even the mightiest tree, *It is too hot.*

His black-furred dogs were like shadows at his heels. Nanuq, the silver-muzzled, and Pakak, the huntress, were as alike as summer and winter, but they were loyal to him. 

Keskil stood just beyond the entry-gate of Irongate's outermost wall, in awe at how high its first men built the city's stones. With his left hand, he pulled his knit-hat off his head and held it as he stared at the city.
Carol
Frederick Agarys 
Iron Gate, Northwind
 
It had been weeks since Levi left, and the men were getting restless. Frederick did what he could, but he did not hold the same power that Levi held over other people. His name didn't carry the same weight. 

"Frederick! The cook you trained has outdone himself! Come join!" A booming voice reached Frederick's ears, and Frederick turned, smiling as the smells of roasted venison registered to his nose. 

"Orin, you did well. I am proud of you." Frederick said, taking a hunk of meat from the platter sitting in front of the large hall. Men began trickling into the large tent, and before long it was brimming with the sounds of laughter and bickering as men and women crowded the many tables that were set up. 

————-

 Food was plenty, and the ale flowed like water as the night grew older. Frederick maintained his sobriety, avoiding making a fool out of himself. A group of men had began playing with knives, each daring the other to go faster as the knives' sharp points danced in the spaces between their fingers. Frederick sat back in his chair, watching as the chaos ensued. There was a calm; hidden underneath the disarray. The children were sleeping in their mother's arms, and the strays were begging for scraps as their mouths watered. Levi's wolf slept soundly, having gotten his fill off of the hunt. Frederick sighed, before placing the dark cloak onto his shoulders and walking towards Iron Gate.

He took a deep breath as the cold air invaded his lungs. His short hair did little to keep his ears warm, so he pulled the hood over his head, before clenching his jaw and tugging it off. Today he was going to town as Frederick, not as Leviticus Cortezial. He could feel the stares prickling the hair on his neck, and he closed his eyes, breathing slowly to calm his nerves. 

"Freddy boy! Where are you going?" The man slurred his words as he stumbled out of the tent. The smile on his face was quickly replaced by a scowl as the cold wind greeted him, and walked back inside without waiting on a response. Frederick turned and walked towards the gate. 

————

Frederick shivered again as he approached one of the main gates. He could hear sounds of life, a cough from one of the nearby travelers, and horses fighting against their riders. But one figure stood out to him out of everything. 

"Lost?" Frederick tried to appear nice, slowly approaching the man standing with the two animals. He warmed his hands with his breath, trying to keep his feeling.
Chris
**Keskil "Bonefingers" – Irongate** 
The black dogs that shadowed Keskil were almost as large as wolves, and they were near identical, if not for Nanuq's age-earned silver mask. Their ears were on a swivel, monitoring the soundscape of this strange, new land. Boldly, Pakak, crouching low to the ground, dared to step forward to sniff the toe of Frederick's boots, intrigued by the scent of smoke and meat her keen nose detected. 

Keskil was a young man, still a boy in some aspects; he was short-statured and still round-faced with youth. 

He spoke with a strange accent. "Eh? Just lookin—" It seemed he just now noticed Pakak's inquisitive sniffing. He scowled and whistled sharply; obediently, Pakak stepped back and sat beside him. "Sorry!" 

The boy looked back to Frederick, "Cold? No, no, don't warm them like that. The breath is too wet. This way," He waved his mittened hands, then, to demonstrate, balled-up his hands and stuffed them in the pits of his arms. "Like this."