Frances
Cludia Forestien, The Witherlands
The Pines of Morn

Cludia Would have spent time skinning the sow she had recently killed, a soft hum escapes her lips as she slowly removed chunks of bloody flesh, skin, and even took some bones as bones sometimes provided good handles for her makeshift weapons. With a sigh, she would wipe off blood off her face and arms and look herself over, dropping into the snow and rolling around, the perfect way to take a bath, the snow now covered in what looked like a blood bath that someone just decided was a good place to roll around, wait, that is what happened... Either way- with her skin moist with freshly melted snow, and a sow that looked like someone mangled to death, she would make her way back to wandering her territory, keeping her fresh meat in a large pouch she gathered from a human merchant who tresspassed in her territory.
Bernice
Ostiary Vigi Bolstad, The Bulwark

"A hut, my boy, is typically made from hardened clay or dirt. This, what you stand in now, could go by many different names. A castle, a fortress, a citadel, but the members of the Order call this place The Bulwark. It's a word that means 'wall'. We start here, in the middle of the North as a wall between the common people and the terrors that might strike at them." Their footsteps echoed throughout the halls, the choir persisting, louder as they pass by what appeared to be one of the many monasteries scattered across the halls. Curiously, though, the music did not get any quieter as they left it in their tracks. Some time later, they would pass by another group, singing in perfect synchronicity. 

"We did not build this place, Stern. We found it. What we've been able to gather from this place is amazing. Whoever built this place intended to stay here a long time. Perhaps they did, but they're gone now. We've added onto it, of course. Tried to recreate it the best we could. Some say this place was originally built by the dragons." 

Vigi stopped having come to a fork in the pathways. It was met with a wall, inscribed in the same runic language, filling in the blank space of a mural. A crowd of people, holding primitive weaponry, being burnt to death by a billow of fire. The Ostiary looked craned his neck upwards. The size of the dragon was unlike anything either of them had ever seen. 

"I believe them."
Joyce
Stern Logarsh, the Bulwark

Stern let his hand run across the stone wall on his left "Bulwark..." He muttered to himself before looking back at the man. His mind trying to picture something so ancient... Yet more advanced than his tribe. More questions began forming in his mind, yet all of his thoughts stopped as he heard the word "Dragons". He got closer to the wall the guide was looking at and instinctively growled as he saw the image of a dragon. Something of that depiction was... Familiar. He felt an unexplicable wave of dread, fear and danger running across his body. 
He remained silent for a few seconds, his expression darkened by memories he couldn't define nor explain. 
"Let's continue... I did not come here to stare at a wall."
Stephanie
Jestah, Witherlands
The Pines of Morn

Jestah would wipe himself off any snow on him, looking around before picking up his daggers holstering both of them into each holster on his thigh. He'd stroll over to Edmund giving the man a thumbs up, the half-breed, not excited to be working with the noble child but he had no other choice, either walking alone in the frozen woods lost, or tolerating the young brat, it was clear working with Edmund as of now would be the best for his health. 

"I'm ready as evah! Let's get ya fine lil ass movin so I could get out of this shite place known as a bloody forest."
Bernice
Ostiary Vigi Bolstad

The Bulwark, The Witherlands

"Quite right." He had lost the cheery cadence, and made a sharp turn left. "However, I do hope that at the very least you find yourself impressed." As they walked, the atmosphere got increasingly warm. They were heading further into the keep, into the mountain. The oppressive greyish blues of cold dusk gave way to a softer, orange light. The air began to cool off, and people could be seen carrying simple trays of food, a dinner ration. Two slices of bread, a simple gravy, and a thick slab of meat. It was a good meal for anyone not seven and a half feet tall. In their other hand, a fairly large mug of ale. 

The choirs abruptly stopped, and gave way to some more jovial music. What once was a solemn church hymn became a soft tavern song, now accompanied by the chimes of a dulcimer. As they passed by the main hall, Stern would get a brief glance of the long, wooden tables. Most ate their meals quietly, conversing among themselves. A select few, however, were brawling in the center, around a sizable bonfire. 

"Are you hungry?" Vigi asked.