Hassan
**Markus Cane**
**Winterlands, Horn Hills**

Despite his lordly standings in the Winterlands, Markus cane entered the brawling arena almost complety unnoticed. Gone where his typical fine cloaths and coats the world have worn on most frozen days like today. In the cold, he felt the ice cut on his face, beneath his simple brown cloak. Under the hood, much of his face was hidden. Including his blind eyes. 
As Markus navigated the crowd, his cat was never far away. It weaved like a needle through the people, dodging feet as people walked around the cat. Despite the fact it was an animal, the cat seemed to move with a clear destination in its mind.
As Markus made his way to where the contests were meant to stand, the cat moved to a hight lege, near what must have been some kind of private viewing point. Crouching, it made sure it could get a good view of the fight. It was a sight that confused the people that looked upon it. The ginger feline looked down, relaxed, but alert. 


In the meantime, Markus found his way to besides the other contestants. He moved with some caution, for his cat was a way off for a moment. But Markus still managed to get there in the end. As he stood there, he listened to the other competitors present. By the time his cat had a good enough view, he was able to take a quick peek through its eye. He kept to himself, happy to watch events play out until he was required to fight.
William
Mallory Matronis, The Witherlands
WIlderness

"Don't worry about paying me Everard. I already have enough money the way that I live, and I didn't become a physician just so I could get paid."
Diana
**Joseph Everard, the Witherlands**
**Wilderness**

He kept walking with Mallory and he nodded reluctantly. "Yes I know, but there must be something I can do." He watched the trees pass as they walked, and only then did it register how cold it was out. His adrenaline had been pumping overtime, and now it was wearing off.

"Oh, and you can call me Joseph."
Brenda
Lady Sibyl Barrmount
The Witherlands, Horn Hills

Sibyl had, a few days ago, slipped away from her manor house, informing only her younger sister of her whereabouts; she had promised, after not-too-much duress, to reign as acting Lady of the Iron Plaines until Sibyl returned.

So Sibyl left on horseback, donning her black cloak and throwing the hood over her visage, first to spend one whole night in the forests beside her home and then, finally, to make her way to the Horn Hills.

The journey there was dark and cold, the air growing thicker and thicker with mist as she neared the islands of the Crakefall. With every inhale she felt her belly frost over hard and big with the chill of the wind. With every exhale she felt it deflate again, cold dispersing evenly throughout her body.

Eventually, having camped out numerous times in nature, Sibyl found civilization and then, finally, she saw the arena. Its exterior looked as cold as the air outside it; a mixture of metal and stone and wood, it seemed, to her, to be as grey and stolid as its environment.

Sibyl ran her hands over the rim of her cloak and patted down her hood before opening the great doors to the arena and walking inside it. She immediately noticed the heat-energy being emitted from the vast crowds bilging around the tournament hall. Her first thought was to take down her cloak, envelop herself in the welcome embrace of the cold again, but as she looked around she realized the chance of being recognized was too large.

She wanted to watch, not to be watched.

She wanted to see the fighting, the triumph, the defeat as close as possible, witness the raw, bloody details of life and death.

However, to do so as a Lady would be making a political statement, an acquiescence to the Brasses, an acceptance of slavery or even of this vile combat - which she, of course, could not accept. Not as a Lady.

But as Sibyl, she relished it.

Without making too much of a commotion, Sibyl weaved through the crowd, elbowing some and apologizing to others, before she was close enough to the fighting area that she stopped moving, looked up, and waited.
William
Mallory Matronis, The Witherlands
Wilderness

"Well Joseph, if I can think of something I'll tell you, but for now, you're the one who needs to rest up."
Hassan
Col Jude
Brass Family Arena, Horn Hills, The Witherlands

The journey to Horn Hills had been arduous, miserable, and cold. The Witherlands was a different kind of cold compared to Northwind. Col spent most of his time in frigid temperatures, where the very air he breathed stung his lungs, and it still didn't compare to a cold night in the Northernmost Kingdom in Marin. 

The journey took longer than expected because he had to stop more frequently then expected, and the prize of the brawl became more and more appealing. He eventually bartered a deal, his horse for a lift on a boat to Horn Hills. He stowed away in the shipping compartment, and much to his surprise even the rats seemed to abandon hopes of survival in the Witherlands. He wasn't woken up by one the entire journey.

When he finally arrived at the arena it was beginning to fill up. Fighters coming from various Kingdoms it seemed all dressed in their thickest fur. To say he was surprised by the fighters selected was an understatement. The first person he saw was a woman no bigger than his finger... Then a goddamn cat. He laughed shortly, deciding to just enter the arena with the other contestants and wait for instruction. He knew how a fight worked, although, this one seemed destined to be unlike any other he'd seen before.