The sound of rapid, panicked splashing causes lake water to rain down on the heads of Briar and Belial, who remain oblivious to the threat that haunts Cronn. With his frantic motions, they can no longer hear any other sounds around them and become more unnerved as their third member remains nonvocal about what has caused his distress. Unable to see even their own noses, they proceed forward, not wanting to linger in the water for any longer than they must, and not wanting to provoke whatever it is that may have startled Cronn. Within moments, Cronn surpasses them with deep, rapid breaths as his face breaks the surface and then submerges again. As the sound of his open palms slapping at the water dulls with the distance he has created between himself and the others, the hissing of his pursuer is exposed to Briar's ears. Then, Belial's. Still being unsure of what it could be, Briar holds himself in place for a moment. Then, swims slightly to his right and reaches out for the source. As

Jaunty tunes and rigorous boot beating surround a large bonfire, where dozens of men and women celebrate a successful night's work with bountiful meals and upbeat drum works. Their lack of concern for what goes on beyond the light leaves a window of opportunity for one who lingers in the dark, quietly making their way towards the aroma of roasting pork. With a cloak pulled overhead, they step around the backside of a tent, allowing only the base of their chin to be exposed. Once in view, most of the festivities come to a halt. The unexpected visitor remains in place for a moment before continuing towards a table where five men sit, just a few feet away from a wagon full of wheat and dried berries. As they do so, members of the gathering pull their blades free, and once again, the figure stops in place."Now, now." The man at the table's furthest end gets to his feet as he speaks, motioning for the others to lower their weapons. "That's not how we greet a visitor, is it?" Doing as they

Two malformed, yellow eyes trace The Keep's outline, as what remaining daylight glows red against its towers. Small clouds of hot breath roll out from between parted lips, as heavy footfalls cause the snow beneath them to crunch. An attack that will surely go unforgotten has yet to unfold, but Belial knows it must be done. Stepping onto the platform, he pushes one of the massive doors wide open and walks inside. A wave of warmth washes over him, along with the sickly odor that follows every Nostrum. Dozens have found their way back, but not quite all of them, just yet. Taking note of this, he proceeds towards the Great Hall and pulls out a sedative. The sound of empty glass bottles clattering together warns him of what little time remains. Popping the cork, he takes two chugs and places yet another empty bottle in his pocket. As the once foul taste runs down his throat, he finds that it no longer makes him wince. Constant consumption has given him a short-lived immunity to an otherwis

The two stare each other down as chilling winds whip around the building. Intensifying by the second. Achlys, attempting to get Cronn's assistance, crawls towards him. Leaving a trail of blood droplets behind as she goes. In an effort to distract himself from the desire to vomit, and wanting to preserve the life of Achlys, he pulls her by the hand, then steps in front of her; Maintaining the aim of his pistol's muzzle as he does so."Yuler, what have you done? Why? Why would you do this?""I had to. The Servant's Garb whispers to me... as it does for all who wear it. It's how the servants know what to say when Achlys speaks." Yuler flicks her sights onto the corpse for a brief moment. Then, closes her eyes, continuing to speak. "Devough forced it upon me before she died, holding it over my head until it could take effect. Once it did, she pulled the blanket from me and ran towards Belial. She knew he was waiting for me.... She sacrificed herself, just to get out from under Achlys' ord

Cronn rests against a mattress in the infirmary, with three nurses tending to him. One scrubs at abrasions on his arms and legs with a warm, wet sponge, whilst another administers medication for his head. The third, who had assisted Briar and himself in finding Belial prior, replaces buckets of filthy solution with fresh ones at his feet and sorts out utensils on a small platter. Each of which is clearly designed for stitching up open wounds. He winces as the first nurse places a sponge against his cheek. The sting of alcohol against tender tissue remains persistent long after she moves on to another area. Cronn looks about the other beds, wondering why most remain empty in a time like this, but fearing the answer."Thank you, Cronn." The nurse at his feet says with a shy, uncertain smile."For what?""For saving us from what would have otherwise been certain death." The two nurses helping her nod in agreement. Each sharing in the small smile."There's no need for that." Cronn looks t