The snow began to fall in earnest as Vane and Isole returned to the village. It was a heavy, wet snow that clung to the thatch roofs of Mourn-Hold and turned the mud of the main street into a freezing slush. The village was quiet. The shutters were bolted tight against the wind, and the only light came from the flickering lanterns hanging outside the Inn.
They entered the common room. It was empty save for the low fire in the hearth. Alden had left a pot of stew keeping warm on the iron hook, but the Headman himself was nowhere to be seen. The silence wasn't fearful anymore. It was the heavy, exhausted silence of a community that was simply waiting for the end of the winter.
Vane secured the heavy oak door. He checked the latch three times. He checked the mana-wards etched into the frame. Then he turned to Isole.
"Upstairs," Vane said. "We need to prep the gear for a necrotic environment. The filters I bought in the city are in the secondary pack."
