Jul 27, 2025 10:59 am
FROZEN BARRENS | MARCH OF SNOW AND ECHOES | SNOW-DUSTED MID-AFTERNOON
Regret covers the cairns, deeper and colder than the snow.
Northward the land unrolls in muted whites and greys, a slow-climbing braid of ridges where fresh snow drifts make progress slow and tedious. The storm’s roar is a memory now, only the dry hiss of constant, gentle flakes accompany the party’s march. Packs jingle softly, breath curls and fades. Kaelith leads, footfalls ghost-quiet, eyes forever measuring and evaluating, never lingering for more than a moment on a single object. At each crest he pauses long enough to scrape a quick symbol into the powder, an Erunsil scout's shorthand that promises safe footing for those who follow and warns him if someone slips behind.
On easier stretches Ulfr and Azote range wide, scouting for spoor or patrol prints. None present themselves. Izrador’s hunters favor clearer weather and easier kills; today the Barrens belong only to stone, snow, and the muffled drumbeat of rebellious hearts. Behind them Petra murmurs a half-remembered rhyme, timing each stanza to match Seelah's even steps. Jasir remains mostly silent, taking notes at seemingly random intervals and absent mindedly memes arcane symbols. Varin carries the rear, pace hurried yet tireless, ever vigilant to the threat of unforeseen dangers.
The march continues as such until Kaelith raises a hand and the column halts. Ahead, half-sunken stones jut from the ridge, rough crowns visible above the snow’s thin crust. Even at a distance they are unmistakable: cairns, once Dornish signal markers, now broken and daubed with oily glyphs that shine like bruises across the granite.
No gust disturbs the stillness, yet each noise seems amplified, as though the ridge itself is listening. Snow continues to fall, soft, dispassionate, infinite. It blurs the cairns and mutes all color yet cannot smother what lingers beneath.
The scout’s voice shatters the silence in a hush of iron-cold wind, "Remember, we tread lightly in these lands. The memories here lie frozen in regret, their bitterness still bites."
The party stands at the threshold of a ridge infested with bitter regret and memories long forgotten.
What do you do?
OOC:
Let me know if your're making any checks. Seem's like a good time to remind everyone Knowledge religion is not a thing in midnight.
