The snow came up to her knees, the wind harsh and cutting. Her cloak billowed out behind her as the blizzard cut at her, almost frenzied in what might've been nature's attempt to ward out humanity from this stronghold. But the hooded mage showed no hesitation, pressing on through the night, stalking the strait as the wind threatened to blow her off.
The wolves howled in the distance, almost entirely swept away by the screaming wind. They had claim to this territory, and any others would be fought out. But this was her homeland, too. This was the kind of weather she had grown in, born and raised in the brutal winters and deadly cold. She would not give in quite so easily. Slowly, ever so slowly, she made it away from the coast, up to the stronghold's entrance, green eyes wide as she watched the snow build up against the sides, piled high.
It wasn't quite safe to build here yet. But no longer would she pretend this wasn't part of her lineage. This would be her safe haven, the den of all seeking refuge from the world. Daemonheim would become a world of profit for her and her people. Adventurers would come from all places to come and pillage the depths, and she would let them.
There was work to do. In the dark and in the cold, the mage set up her tent, the wind rattling it but the snow providing ample warmth once it built up enough. And when morning came, when the wolves prowled their lands, she would prove to them that it was hers as well as any other challenger that would follow her down.
"A silly ***** is what I'm going to call **** jokes from now on."
-Jen 2015
16-Dec-2016 08:11:01
