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[Haspen]

Mannan arched his left eyebrow and looked at Gregor.

"You really think it is Prixima's doing? I think you might be slightly paranoid, Gregor... shady dealings and hired assassins is one thing, but to mobilize Menelean army? Eight thousand at Fezzan front, another two thousand at the mountain trails, and those few divisions of wyverns raiding our outposts and supply caravans. That's more than eleven thousand Menelean soldiers pushing against Berebian defences. I don't think Prixima could get more than one eigth of that under her banner without toppling your King."

[Sirus]

Gregor grimaced.

: "Our short journey for just one of the Dragonstones resulted in the deaths of two nobles. I wouldn't want to lay bets on what she's done in the past few months."

: "But perhaps you're right. If that's the case, I hate the idea of fighting Meneleans even more. Prixima's hired goons are one thing, but I'm sure the vast majority of the soldiers out there...well, they're probably just like I was."

[Haspen]

Mannan nodded and drank the last of his drink, letting out a sigh as his eyes turned toward the snowy landscape. He then turned to Gregor.

"Well, time for me to go to work. There might be some correspondence and reports waiting for me. I've given orders to the village shopkeepers to re-open their stores with the worst of weather passing. You should be able to get supplies and weapons from them at lowered price." After saying those words, Mannan patted the young soldier on shoulder and moved passed him, going to his office room of sorts.

//You can roleplay now, peeps!

[CrimsonEon]

Meanwhile, outside...

"Ah... Ahh-CH!"
Olison shuddered.
: "Ugh. Consider this another thing I don't quite miss about home." He muttered as Steil trudged through the snow, white flakes gathering in stark contrast to his black hair. He and Chris had just recently returned from an uneventful patrol outside the castle. "How you holding up, Chris?"

[Sirus]

Back inside, Gregor returned to the bedroom and changed into his new armor. While it was very nice for Mannan to provide it, the Berebian purple still looked strange to him.

: "I don't know if I'll ever get used to this thing..."

[Praefectus Screptum]

The druid save a sigh relaxed and closed his eyes, just enjoying the weather outside.



"Ahh.. how I missed this weather... and how I miss the Forsakens..I wonder what the Plague Dragon is saving for us on this place."

[SeriousConcentrate]

Chris walked through the snow beside Steil, keeping pace with the horse's shoulders.

"Fine, I suppose. I would have preferred rain. Also, bless you."

The assassin rubbed at his nose, which was feeling quite cold indeed.

"What about you? Are you really all right with being back in Berebia?"

[CrimsonEon]

Olison attempted to sniff.
: "I can't say I'm thrilled. Last I was here, there was a bounty on my head." Olison shuddered again, about to sneeze, but staved it off, "It's been years, and I haven't heard head or tails on it, but I still can't shake off this hunch."
Steil made his way towards the stables, attempting to shake off some of the snow on his coat.
: "Then again, bounties are probably low on priority when there's an army knocking on your borders. Perhaps I should ask Lord Tunhausen if he knows anything about House Ferwelk's activities."

[SeriousConcentrate]

Chris laughed quietly.

"Well, that's amusing. There's a bounty on our heads now, too. I guess some things never change."

He brushed some snow from his robes, flicking his hood back momentarily to clear it before putting it over his head again.

"Ah, well. Olison, if there's anyone in House Ferwelk you need dead, you know you only need to ask."

[CrimsonEon]

Olison smirked as Steil finally moved into the relative warmth of the stables.
: "Definitely. But it shouldn't be necessary, the one person I needed dead, I put a spear in his weapon arm when I fled from Ferwelk lands. And if I know Lord Ferwelk right, a useless arm will send the poor sod into exile or on a suicide mission." He explained as he dismounted from Steil, leading him to a tiny bale of hay, no doubt the last they're going to get at least until the snow stops.

[Xanmyral]

Salvatore watched as the flames crackle and dance to its own tune in a fireplace, his eyes glazed over and his thoughts lost to the aether of his mind. During the nine days he was inordinately quiet compared to his usual chatty self, giving and returning greetings and attempts at small talk but little more. The man hasn't been seen without his helmet during the entire stay here either, either only removing it when he believes himself unwatched or perhaps just never removing it.

There was a soft thud as a golden scaled tail smacked the ground softly, its owner asleep near said fireplace almost blocking the view of it entirely with its bulk. The only thing Sal wasn't silent on during his stay was his adamant insistence on Ormm staying inside, far away from the blizzard and its cold grasp.

[Blade Master Model 42]

Valor grunted, his breath heavy as he practiced sword-swings in the snow blanketed courtyard. Though at the time he'd been extremely distraught, he had come to terms with the bounty Prixima had placed on his head, and was currently preparing for the only goal he had in mind:

Revenge.

[Sirus]

Now in his new duds, Gregor walked to the common area where many of the group spent their time. He spoke up, attempting to let everyone hear his voice:

: "Listen up, everyone! Now that the blizzard is calming down, we've got a chance to run to the local village for supplies. If there's anything you need, or think you need, or think someone else might need, meet up in the courtyard in 30 minutes. We've got some vulneraries in the wagon, but other than whatever you're carrying that's it."

[Powder Miner]

:"I won't need anything."

[Sirus]

@ Alexander

: "You sure? Well, alright. How about a sparring session later? I think I just about have this new fighting style nailed down."