Steven
Rekkan,
The shores of river Eilen

The warm and green plains of Ibethiel were left behind to become memories that sewn each other together and remained a distant memento of a better time. Despite the dangers and spiked emotions, there was something to cherish in what was left behind, in who one parted with. But that did not matter in the snow and frozen wastes of the Witherlands. A man garbed in thick red cloth made his way through the thick snow and the howling gales that made white flakes whirl in rapid, twisting motions of the wind.

The man in question was covered from face to toes, with the excess of his red cloak being dragged on the ground. The edges of his concealing outfit grazed the snow, sometimes fluttering with the rapids of the wind that pushed against him. He battled the opposing gale, gazing at lights and smoke in the distance. Trandon. The last stretch of the journey would be the easiest one. Rekkan had travelled through mountains and hills, forests and swamps, all the way to get there. He didn't know what to expect in his destination, truth be told, but there was the distinct curiosity of seeing it through.

But not before the sight of something peculiar catching his interest. He glanced at the gleam of armor through the fall of snow and radiation of sunlight. The being decided to inspect him, drawing ever closer until...

There was a chance that Edmund did not notice the approach, because of pain and focus elsewhere, or lack of focus and conscience. Either way, having realized there was another or not nearby, he probably wasn't ready to feel an enormous pressure on the back of his frame and a sudden heave of his body. Suddenly, the knight felt his back against something large and thick. If he were to look, it was the frame of what looked like a tall human, one meter and ninety three centimeters, wrapped in red cloth.

"Are you a dead man walking?"
Bertha
Edmund Silverstep, the Witherlands
Shores of River Eilen.

The man crawled through freezing heaps of snow, leaving a light trail of blood behind him - his consciousness was failing, his arms beginning to tire from this seemingly useless strive. The last-ditch attempt at getting to Trandon - the place that would save him from certain death was on the verge of failing. Edmund sighed, slowing down to measure up his chances: it was looking bleak. It was about two or three more miles till he would reach the outskirts of this safe haven and his fingers were already refusing to even bend. Perhaps, it was time for him to come to terms with this terrible demise of his.

Suddenly, something pushed him into the snow, making him yell out in pain as his wound opened up completely... The pain was unbearable at this point and, as the figure began to speak, Edmund faded, losing his consciousness. 'Is this how it ends then?' he asked himself before his vision went dark, leaving the cold noble motionless under his sudden assailant.
Steven
Rekkan,
Shores of river Eilen,

Granted, Edmund was in a state that the crimson warrior wasn't surprised to see. Many were the men and women that fell in the harsh conditions of the northern weather, their minds eroded by the cold and skin shriveled until it turned to icy stone. Such fate wasn't waiting for Edmund, not that day. With his wound open to a tear on his leg and the blood flowing like a fountain, Rekkan decided to take care of the man then and there. He laid the knight on the snow with his back against the cold white and guided his right hand, spiraled on the palm, to the severe injury on the man's leg. His fingers were smeared in blood, just like his tattooed palm.

"This might wake you up."

At first, an unconscious Edmund would feel warmth. Or would have, if he could sense something in his blacked out state. This warmth turned into tingling heat, making the leaking blood begin to clot and darken to a crust. Then, the tingle became a sting, multiplied in the dozens, then the hundreds. Heat made the skin turn red around the wound, then the wound itself began to grow calloused from the cleansing fire heat. Infection? Bacteria and germ alike were swept away by the rolling wave of blurred atmosphere, until there was naught but a mark of where the blood once flowed out from, cauterized.

Following improvised treatment, the large warrior was careful, lifting the noble up and over his right shoulder, carrying him to Trandon.
Bertha
Edmund Silverstep, The Witherlands
Frozen Shores of River Eilen.

The young noble lay there, dormant as his wound was tended to by his unexpected saviour. He felt no pain from the strange treatment Rekkan gave the tear in his leg. His mind, meanwhile, stayed murky - he'd almost lost control over it because of the blood loss and the terrible cold he was surrounded by. However, he could still think. At least somewhat. He questioned what was going on, surprised to not be dead yet. Although, perhaps, it was just agony at this point - he didn't know. Confused and frightened, he tried desperately to open his eyes to no avail for the time being...

MInutes passed and, suddenly, he finally felt something! It was the familiar tingling of his burnt and torn-up wound - his senses were slowly coming back to him. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, only to be met with the sight of a crimson fabric in front of them. Disoriented at first, he began to look around and soon he realized that some tall figure was carrying him towards Trandon. His voice was frail as he spoke:

"Oi.. Could you put me down?"
Steven
Sir Edmund Silverstep, Rekkan,
Outskirts of Trandon,

The town of Trandon was a bustling coastal settlement in the northern shores of the Witherlands. Its docks were full of small fishing boats, built sturdy to withstand the solid ice that coated edges of the archipelago stretching to the northern horizon. There were few ships, mainly cargo transports that made sure that every coastal settlement was supplied with resources through the constant trading of product and raw material.

Knight and warrior were in the limits of the crude palisade when Edmund rose from his unconscious state. The man carrying him felt his body squirm awake and it didn't take long for the noble to speak out and request that he was put down on the ground. Rekkan couldn't do that outright. The wound was still fresh, even if cauterized on the surface. The large man didn't want to have the crust split into splintered pieces and reopen the treated injury.

"When we're in town." He said plain with a near guttural tone, as if his throat was stoked by a fire coming from his chest, rising black fog that never spilled from between his lips.

They joined a small line of caravans, traders from inland that were bound to trade furs and red meat for fish and other sea resources.
Bertha
Edmund Silverstep, the Witherlands
Outskirts of Trandon.

A bustling town, indeed, Trandon was in motion - people were preparing to meet the ships from the southern isles to finally refill their rations of food and send the vessels back with rich minerals and metals... It was a happy day for its citizens - always, at the end of the month those sails on the horizon caused an uplift in everybody's mood - there's only enough smiles you can give before eating some poor rat's meat gets to you at the end of the day.

As they approached the town, Edmund grew a bit more restless,wanting to walk on his own two feet - miraculously, he wasn't touched by frostbite and the only reason he felt sick was due to the aforementioned loss of blood and consiousness not ten minutes ago.

"How noble of you to help me out of the snow.. If not for that sudden streak of luck, I'd already be a frozen statue like the poor people of Nornver..." He finally commented on the man's helpful deed, muttering something else about the town he had to burn down and thinking of what it would cost him to repay a life's debt. However, for now he was more interested in his rescuer than anything - the man's crimson clothes and strange accent pointed to the fact that he was definitely not from the Witherlands.
Steven
Sir Edmund Silverstep, Rekkan,
Town of Trandon,

The knight's restlessness was expected by the red warrior that carried him. He could be feeling like a rucksack of potatoes for all Rekkan cared, but he wouldn't put weight on that leg before having some proper rest and a keen eye inspecting the cauterized wound. Who knew what else he could need to recover well enough?

"No being with a conscience would leave another to die at his feet." He replied in a low tone. He didn't quite care about the people of Nornver, whoever they were or whatever was the place Edmund was referring to. Rekkan was more interested in getting through the gates, their turn close at hand to come up to the guards.

"Greetings, traveller... Err.. Travellers." The guard said looking at the large man and the armored knight on his shoulder. Wasn't that a bit of a weight to carry? Huh. "What's your business in Trandon?"

"I was told I could get a transport to the Horned Hills from here." Rekkan said.

"Ah, an enthusiast of the tournament taking place soon? Perhaps a participant?" The guard smirked.

"The latter."

"Hoho! I could tell from your size you couldn't just be a bystander, a hahaha!! Well, I won't delay you. What about the fellow on your shoulder?"

"A stray I picked up from the ground. Can you point me to the apothecary?"
Diana
**Joseph Everard, The Witherlands**
**Wilderness**

He felt sort of guilty at first, dragging this person everywhere just because he had gotten sick. He didn't even know if she was going to the town in the first place. If not, he's just being a pain.

"You're going to the town too?" He said, hoping for a positive answer. He took her hand hesitantly, but recognized the ploy. He'd go along with it, he supposed.
William
Mallory Matronis, The Witherlands
Wilderness

"Of course I am." Seeing him take the hand she grinned, thinking that he had taken the ploy and accepted it when she offered him her hand. He hoped he didn't feel like anything was wrong, or that he felt bad about needing a woman's help. She'd met more than a few people that just didn't want to accept her help when she offered it. "So, what's your name, sir??"
Diana
**Joseph Everard, the Witherlands**
**Wilderness**

"Good, I don't want you to be going to extra trouble... Oh yeah sorry. I'm Joseph Everard." He was glad she was heading to a town as well. Hopefully once he was in the town, this sickness would go away. Gods, how long would he be helpless like this?
William
Mallory Matronis, The Witherlands
Wilderness

"Well, Joseph Everard. You are very lucky, you know that? But that's not something you probably want to hear right now, is it? You want to hear more about your condition and what's wrong. Well, considering what it is, I'd consider that you should only have a problem for a day, but if it's bad, which it may be considering the severity of your seizures, it may take two to three days before I'd suggest, in my professional opinion, that you would think about heading out to do work again."
Diana
**Joseph Everard, the Witherlands**
**Wilderness**

He was disappointed about the prospect of him not being able to work, but he understood why. I nodded reluctantly. "Alright. Glad it isn't worse."

How was I going to repay her? I'll think of something... I had almost no money, so I don't know.
Alisha
Lumikki Esienhald, Horn Hills
Battle arena

She stood beside the men, lowered her hood and faced them. "This is where the brawl will take place, correct?" The bandana covered her face but her heterochromic eyes held emotion, fear, anger, and dread, but there was a glint of hope a-midst the darkness. Lyla jogged up beside Lumikki, standing rather hostile. "Manere." She mumbled to the wolf. The beast eased her tension and stood rather relaxed.