***
"Achoo."
"Bless you." "Bless you captain."
"Good lord this winter. Why did they have to send us here at this time? How long will it take these idiots to gather around already!"
The burly man in a leather armour and thick fir coat cursed as he, along with his guards stood in the middle of the village on the cold winter day.
The sky was a flat, pewter gray, hanging low over the fields like a lid pressed against the world. A bitter wind blew in from the north, sharp as knives, carrying with it the scent of smoke and distant pine.
The wooden paths, slick with frost, cracked underfoot as villagers trudged by, their breath clouding in the air like ghostly steam.
Snow had fallen in the night, not heavy, but enough to dull the colors of the world. The thatched rooftops of the village were dusted white, and the trees stood skeletal and still, their branches glassy with ice.
