Steven
Noma de Cuisinaire
The literal opposite of Australia rn

His work wasn't done yet. After seeing the first two women scarf down their meals he made the solid judgement that more was definitely needed. A quick step into his wagon was all it took and before long he had the next tray or trenchers baking away in his mini oven, he had planned to save the dough for a pie crust but it had been a day or two since he checked on his fruit basket and he wouldn't be able to make one large enough with the scraps left over. The next meal he needed to make took far less participation, however and he was thankful. There were stacks of covered hay on the side of his cart, Noma grabbed one now and whistled loudly to the clearing. A moment passed before the sound of a bell could be heard called by a deep lowing. Bertram, came lumbering from the brush he had made his napping spot, the thought of food enticing the large ox awake long enough to approach. Noma set the small bale in front of his companion and patted the small patch of fur between his horns.

"Eat, then rest, old sport. You did a fantastic job today." Bertram was more than a pack animal, he was Noma's companion.

The jolly chef examined his guests before taking a moment to sigh, another successful night was well on the way. This is what Noma did.

Years ago, nearly a lifetime, the smaller figure could be found working the fields in the south of Ibethiel, tending radishes, potatoes, and cabbages. He always had a habit to help other living things grow, and when the report came in that the government was collapsing, the young man decided he would be more helpful on the road. So he packed up his wagon with as much food as he could, strapped his plow ox into a new harness, and set out into the vast unknown to give people on the road some comfort of home.

Noma went to the assortment of items that clung to the outside of his mobile shack. With a small groan he hoisted a large rocking chair down. Carrying it close to the fire he smiled towards the child that sat there.

"Mind if I sit here?" He set his chair down before relaxing into it with a happy sigh. He grinned constantly, before pulling a long stalk of wood from an inside vest pocket. He reached into a pouch at his waist and pinched off some sweet tobacco he always had a case of. His fingers pushed the plant into the acorn that made up his pipe's bowl, as his second hand pulled a small pool of wick free. He lit one end of the wick and held it above his pipe tenderly.

Smoke billowed out of his mouth and he hummed at the sweet cherry flavor that accompanied it, surrounded by the fog lighting his pipe created.
Stephen
Maren Tockett
Cold place

Maren had finally begun to feel the defrosting of her fingertips happen, and she watched as the chef pat his friend the ox. She watched intently. She liked animals and watching the Ox listen so well and munch on the hay made her want to give it a hug. She liked hugs. She was quite clingy, actually.

So she welcomed Noma's intrusion on sitting next to her in the chair, looking up at him with her very sweet doe-like eyes. She was of course quite dirty and blistered, but there was still a sense of cuteness in that stare she gave him. She slipped on her shoes and stood up shakily, walking over to the pot on the fire and smelling it. She finally grabbed a bowl herself, not even a full ladle full but she wasn't the best at maneuvering the utensils. She shuffled back to Noma and sat down at his feet, smelling the tobacco that he had begun to smoke through his pipe. It was comforting.

She took a sip of her food and she sighed. It was so good! She smiled a little and took another bite. She wondered if this was all real. It didn't feel like it. Kindness was foreign to her.

She looked over at the tall woman and raised her eyebrows. They were like opposites. She bet that the lass was beautiful hiding underneath all those robes. Although Maren thought only good things, it mostly just looked like she was starting at her.
Ellen
Taichar-Yu
Outskirts of the Witherlands

Dancing fire warmed the wok and sent sparks of hot grease flying. The nomad watched carefully for a while longer before he suddenlt stood up and moved like a spectre to the tent, ghostly vanish as he simply disappeared for several minutes. 

He came back with an armful of things. A wooden plale, two blankets made of stitched wolfskins and an unheard of device: a flesh fork. He sat back down and wrapped himself in a blanket before holding one out to the general. The stitches, visible on the underside of the blanket, were masterful and cautiously done in red thread.

"I would agree. There are some places man had no right in being. This is horrible... I saw the signs but just didn't know the plague was this bad." He mumbled softly. He listened and batted a brow. "Why.. No, I don't think I have. I've only met a handful of runaways out here and none of them were visibly sick." He stated passively.

He skewered the rabbit from the wok and brought the piece of meat to the plate on his lap, carefully cutting the tender rabbit. It was a medium-rare, borderline medium cook. The smells were poisonously attractive to him, but the meat would be too hot. He set the plate by the fire to let it cool. Taichar moved the wok and kettle slightly down the splint to make room for more rabbit. 

While he waited on his meal to cool, he lifted another rabbit and slowly started to skin it. The hunter must be as calm as he is cautious and as silent as he is aware. He smiled to himself. 
"I am quite happy you came to talk, even if it's not the happiest of topics. What are you doing out here... By the border? Some special intelligence mission?" He asked with a playful and modestly untimely chuckle.
Sharon
Shaye Hallenshire
Witherland Roads

The gangly woman was finally satisfied, the warm meal like a gentle embrace after a hard days work. Beginnings of a smile worked their way across her face as she sighed in delight—this had truly been the best meal she'd had in a very long time. Normally they consisted of whatever scraps she had managed to toss together and that certainly didn't have the same appeal.

Briefly she wondered if the man found his calling in cooking just as she discovered hers in drawing. Truthfully, the flavors within the meal could be considered an art form and he had carried it out with such care. He was gifted, a magician working wonders with food. She almost envied the chefs talent, her own skills at crafting meals were mediocre at best.

The tall woman sighed and for a blissful moment considered what it might be like to eat so well on a regular basis. Her stomach rejoiced at the very thought, even as she shook her head at the absurd notion. What would a complete stranger want with an almost 7' woman? Perhaps in the event that he needed fruit that was up high—she cut herself off as a chuckle built up in her chest. What a ridiculous thought. 

Her mind suddenly faltered at the feeling of eyes on her, and she looked up to see the child staring thoughtfully; immediately Shaye's cheeks turned pink, *I bet I look like a towering monster to her.* 
The Cartographer swallowed and slowly raised her hand, offering a shy wave. *Hopefully this doesn't scare her..*
Raul
Catarina Tanner
Witherlands Road

She observed her new companions, still seated on the rough-hewn bench at a table all to herself. The little girl looked to be doing better, now that she had warmed herself by the fire and indulged herself in the meal. The towering woman seemed friendly enough, and Cat couldn't help but smile a little bit when she waved at the child. The chef, meanwhile, seemed as bubbly and warm as the stew he created. He was certainly an incredible cook, and Catarina was grateful to him for the meal, although she had a feeling it wouldn't end well when he found that she had no way to pay for it. 

For now, however, she indulged herself, scarfing down the meal with almost disturbing efficiency. In just a few minutes, everything was gone, from the trencher to the orange peel garnish. She really had been starving, quite literally. After finishing, she rose from her seat and cupped the cider in her hands once more. It had cooled considerably in the chill of a Witherlands night, but it still gave off a little bit of warmth. She was touched by the shivering child, a pang of loss for her own filling her, and she was overcome by a sense of generosity.

As she approached the fire, she removed the blanket that she had been using as a makeshift cloak and draped it over the child. She gave Maren a little smile, then said warmly, "This should help keep you a little warmer, at least. What's your name? Mine is Catarina, but my friends call me Cat." She looked to their host and smiled at him as well, adding, "Thank you again for the wonderful meal, Mr..."
Hassan
General Wendy Margir
The outskirts of the Witherlands

Wendy hesitated, but nodded her thanks as she took the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. This was not like her, to accept generosity from strangers. However, she refused to show her embarrassment, especially in front of her subordinates.

The woman cleared her throat and continued looking into the fire, sighing. It was hard, to pinpoint where all of this was coming from. Her little sister always paused in times like these to ask 'why,' but Wendy could never stomach those conversations. They always veered into spiritual, metaphysical tangents that she just couldn't believe.

Her father had received word that the sickness all started in Ibethiel. _And they just couldn't keep it to themselves, could they. Idiots,_ she thought, her frustration showing as the muscles in her jaw tightened, her teeth clenching together in her mouth. She'd focus her anger there, while she could. Human targets were much easier to manage.

The only silver lining she could find, was that the sickness could've possibly weakened Vivayn's forces. And if that were the case, the next phase of her mission would hopefully run smoothly.

"It is probably best that you don't know," Wendy said, her expression not softening in the slightest, in response to his lighthearted laugh. "I wouldn't want you wrapped up in what we're doing. You seem to keep to yourself well, but on the off chance that my tracks lead to you, I don't want to bring harm. Please understand."

She sighed and glanced up at the man still waiting by the trees, listening to their conversation. He shook his head, holding up his hand and tapping his wrist.

Wendy focused her gaze back on Taichar-Yu.

"Things have been quiet. That's good, at least," Wendy said. She looked over at the nomad's tent, curiosity piquing her. "You mentioned a clan, correct? And yet you're alone. Did something happen to them?"
Stephen
Maren Tockett
Cold

Maren waved back as awkwardly as the lengthy woman had, bowl in her other hand. She knew she shouldn't look at people too long, and she looked away and back into the fire. She ate another bite, her eyes flickering with the reflection of warmth.

She paused mid-chew as Cat approached, throwing the blanket around her. She looked up, slowly finishing her bite. She didn't even know why the lady bothered. The cold was relentless, and now cloak or blanket could keep the little child warm. She was already swallowed in frost covered furs, but she didn't stop her, either. Just watched.

When a name was prompted she paused, looking up at Cat with a wary stare. "Maren." She whispered. She wouldn't say her last name, no way. They weren't going to send her back to her family. She took another bite. "How do you do." She said with a curt nod. It was very polite, but she took another bite while they were having a conversation.
Sharon
Shaye Hallenshire 
Sitting by a fire in the Witherlands

Shaye shifted uncomfortably in her seat, trying to find a more agreeable position as she slowly inched closer to the fire. Self consciously she crossed her arms and fixed her gaze on the fire; ears picking up on the conversation happening near her. So much of her wished she could be that confident and outright speak to a stranger, but her mouth turned dry at the prospect. What would she say? What if they didn't wish to speak to her? What if she said something stupid?

There were too many uncertainties in talking— a road she could never seem to navigate. So instead she stayed quiet, hoping not to make an idiot of herself, should someone address her.
Ellen
Taichar-Yu
Outskirts of the Wildlands

Firm belief lasted generations within the nomadic tribes he spoke so fondly of and could recollect on with ease— generosity and kindness was a given, but gladly acceptable whenever offered. It was rare to refuse gifts and aid in his culture and he would have been relatively upset if she had done so. "I hunted these wolves myself, all in separate days of course. It's quite a lot of wolf." He commented.

He sat in silence while he parred the fur away from the flesh body of the rabbit. He laid the fur down upon the cloth and slowly laid the rabbit close enough to the fire to where it would dry. He would properly lay them out when the sun was shining and treat them with salt before the meat would eventually go bad. He murmured, "Understandable. I didn't know it was a personal affair. I doubt someone like me would be tied to somebody like you."

He looked over as he felt her gaze. His face had gradually turned from the tense and uneased wrinkles of dried cowhide to smoothened and youthful skin, genial eyes and a gregarious little smile as he looked at her. He followed her gaze to the tent and back.

"I did mention a clan. The Yuehaie. Son of Elder Dhou-Tu. I was second in line to becoming the clan elder before we were raided during a violent rainstorm by a neighboring clan. We had feuded with them over ancestral burial grounds and on multiple occasions fought; it was an act of revenge. They broke into every tent, every storehouse and slaughtered the last soul down to the ground that they stood upon. It was unjust and incredibly cruel, clan code dictates no such violence outside times of peace. It was just before our best harvest moon." He recollected in surprising calm. His eyes grew glassy and they closed as he turned his head away in a moment of vulnerability.

"I have no living relatives besides those that mixed with other clans during emigrational seasons; so essentially they are untraceable. I am alone. I am the last of my people; and I am terrified. I am not terrified of what will happen to me; but they say that the moment that someone is forgotten, that is when they truly die. My legacy and my people's legacy will be lost upon my passing and the Yuehaie will be no more than a word upon pallid lips, and through my memory they are kept alive."

He paused uneasily and looked at the men around the camp. They probably thought he was a madman at this point but he seemed unscathed by their watching eyes. He looked back to the general. "It's funny that way. You spend so much time building an empire that you forget the ones destroying, and the moment you climb to the top there's no way to come down without falling."

He spoke in the same unwavering calm. He gulped uneasily and his eyebrows lowered fiercely before going slack. With shaken hands, he reached for his mug. He did not cry; but he looked on the verge of silent, wistful tears.
Raul
Catarina Tanner
Witherlands Roadside

Catarina smiled at the little girl beside her and replied, "It's nice to meet you, Maren." She took a sip of her cider, turning her gaze into the flames as she sensed the child's unease. She didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable or threatened in any way, and Cat had found that, in general, disinterest made those who felt threatened settle down.

She turned her attention to the gangly woman that was easing closer to the fire, smiling at her as she said, "And you? What's your name?" She tried to appear warm and inviting, but she had little doubt that, with everything she had been through in the past months, she must look rather frightening! The cold had sapped her energy, leaving dark circles under eyes, and the lack of food had left her gaunt, her skin stretched over the bones so that she had the look of a corpse, almost. She hoped she didn't look too much like a skeleton leering at them when she smiled.
Hassan
General Wendy Margir
The outskirts of the Witherlands

The general frowned, listening to the tale with nothin short of reverence. Being back at court, having to surround herself with diplomacy and the like, always seemed to drain her energy more than fighting did. This was part of the reason why she enjoyed being away. Chasing down traitors and bandits brought its own sort of fun— _especially_ when she was designated to interrogate them.

However, it was the freedom of the icy plains that were truly invigorating. The absolute dominion she felt, when she was hunting down a foe, with nothing in her way besides a snowy hill and a treacherous wind.

What she'd also always found to be interesting was the people. She'd _heard_ of clan folk, groups who decided to live off of the land and abide by a different code of life. But she'd never actually _seen_ a person claiming to be a part of one. She'd thought most of them to be children's tales. And so, she could resonate with the melancholy this particular nomad exuded. 

His entire life was about to become nothing more than a tale to be told. And he wasn't anywhere near being old. That must've been a lot to handle. Alone. She felt guilty, almost, for being so disgruntled about not being with her family. At least they were alive.

"I am sorry, that you've experienced this," She finally said. She ignored the shuffling of her men, growing restless on their watch, and surely thinking they should have well been on their way to the nearest village by now. "While I am a glutton for delivering punishment, I am afraid I'm not authorized to meddle in dealings like these, between.. Clans. Though, I doubt that revenge is what you seek."

She glanced away from him, rubbing her chin slightly. Her glove was warm, from where they had been nuzzled between her legs. She breathed out a puff of air. 

"Do you plan on simply living this way? You could start another life, you know," She said. She was just dangling the idea in front of him now, seeing how he might respond to it. She was curious.
Ellen
Taichar-Yu
Outskirts of the Wildlands

"Do not pity me and do not feel sorry— that is the last thing I want. Clan rivalries and feuds are nothing short of ordinary in this way of life. I am fully aware and I accept that reality; there is nothing to gain in denying the truth." He bluntly stated. 

For a nomad, one would likely assume to be rather unintelligent and brutish, but it was hard to see that he was a man of noble blood. For his frosted and somewhat dirty clothes, his hardened face and vigilant eyes, he was a wise and mostly merciful man with many experiences in his life. He had seen and heard much, his mind a sail that pushed forwards a heavy brigade of wonders, cutting swiftly through the waters of unknown oceans.

"There is no meddling to be done at this point, and you stand correct. I do not seek revenge. Being subject to such horrors made me realize something: I seek truths and wonders; I seek purpose in this world. I want to see things, meet people, and talk. Talk about my life— *Their* Lives and *Their* Passions." He spoke slowly and the glassiness soon left from his eyes as he entertained an idea; riding through the frosted steppes with a mass of people, carrying their bannisters and drums and wagon after wagon of supplies. An adventure! This was an adventure, but he craved the comfort of family.

He raised an eyebrow at the general as she spoke. By this point, the rabbit was well cooled. He set the mug down and exchanged it for the plate of rabbit, picking it up thankfully and taking a few mannered but excited bites. A flash of familiarity raced through his eyes and his smile wavered, passing a soft grunt of pleased delight on tasting the rabbit. He chewed and swallowed as he thought on the question before he slowly shook his head. 

"I cannot live this way forever. I need to continue my legacy. If I keep living this way, I need people, and by everything in me I have tried to find those that will join me. I would love a new life with more people, raising my own clan and caring for people I love. Supporting the weak, bolstering the strong, having a home of my own. Wouldn't it be great?" He said dreamily. He considered offering the general some rabbit and it was obvious in his face that he wanted her to have some, but she had refused already so he avoided asking.