#interactions. Alder Ignus

[rykardthebarbarian]

The icy chill that cascaded down from the jagged summits of the Hrimthur's Waste mountaintops pierced through the tower's walls, a frigid blanket engulfing even the interior of the keep. Even with all the fireplaces in the room lit, it did little to raise the overall temperature. However, this was still a vast improvement over the weather outside of the stone walls. Exhausted and freezing refugees huddled around the fireplaces, shrouded in dirty blankets as they desperately rubbed their hands together in an attempt to stave off frostbite for just a little longer. "Some of them will never be ready," Came Rykard's grim observation, gaze shifting to the other refugees before back to Alder. "But something tells me you're not ready to join them in death in this gods forsaken tower. I want to get out of here too. The sooner, the better." He cast an anxious glance out the frost etched window to his left.

The moon hung above them in the night sky, waxing and foreboding. Everyday that slipped by brought them closer to the point in time where the sun and moon became positioned in such a way that would cause all hell to break loose. Rykard had to get out of here before the moon became full, his transformation was inevitable but the more distance he could put between himself and the other refugees, their chances of survival became greater. "I don't think you're supposed to," the werewolf replied, "I don't think much survives out here, even animals are scare. I used to hear stories of explorers finding fully preserved bodies of long dead beasts beneath the ice in Hrimthur's Wastelands. I always thought it was bullshit, until I saw this frozen hell for myself."

Location: Nornwatch Tower.

Time: Morning.

Situation: Troupe 1 - Refugees.

The old metal armor, darkened and matted by time, was starting to feel heavy - not because of the weight it carried physically, but the psychological one that turned him into a wall of protection to the refugees he accompanied. Were him to travel alone as he always did, he'd already have reached Lysara at this point, however, what was left of light inside of him ordered him to help those in need, even though he could feel the darkness slowly but surely taking over his mind. The beast inside of him growled and howled, hidden but ever-present, thus announcing the monthly notice of the necessity that corrupted his soul - the urge to taste blood slowly becoming unbearable.

Deep in thoughts, it was only when someone sat at his table that all surrounding noise came back to him. As his gaze sliced through the room, no other empty seats, women, children, the elder, that hall filled to the brim with refugees from the war that had come to Iskaldrik. "Easy prey... Delicious innocent flesh... Eat... Consume... DEVOUR..." The deep growl filled his mind once again, and as to shake those thoughts away, a sigh. "I wonder how long until we're ready to resume this journey..." He muttered to himself, although it could be seen as a question to the other person in front of him. His gaze finally fixed on that person. "I think I'll never get used to the weather on these parts..."