The stone walls encircling the city loomed out of the fog, and Shadowheart quickened her pace, hoping to reach the city gates before full-dark fell upon her.
Not that she was afraid of the dark, of course not! The darkness held no terrors for her, not so long as Shar's watchful eyes fell upon her. But she could hear the sound of wolves howling in the distance, their mournful cries causing icy shards of terror to prickle at the nape of her neck.
Little wonder the villagers built this insurmountable wall. Mere wolves would never breach it. She'd be safe if she could just get inside...
Something caught her eye—a glint of metal reflecting the last vestiges of twilight. She paused, standing within the long shadow cast by the towering walls, and spied a slumped figure leaning against the weathered stone. A murder of crows huddled along the battlements, fluffing their feathers for warmth as they cackled to one another. A plume of snow drifted downward and settled against the figure's wide-brimmed hat, which was already coated in a thick layer of it. By the looks of it, he'd been sitting there awhile.
Dead, most likely. She wondered if he was some poor pilgrim that had finally given up the ghost just as he'd reached a place of shelter. Or maybe he was some miscreant who had broken the law and was executed for his crimes, his body tossed by the wayside, without even a proper burial.
Despite her better judgement, Shadowheart approached the corpse, her footsteps marring the pristine blanket of snow coating the ground. The crows watched her with gleaming black eyes, cackling to themselves, as if they were fully aware of the foolishness of disturbing the dead in a land where few found peaceful rest.
Even so, she wasn't above looting corpses. And this one might have useful supplies that would better serve the living.
She was, after all, pragmatic by nature.
A deathly chill settled in the pit of her stomach as she stretched forth her hand, and gently tipped back the wide-brimmed hat.
"Who are you?" she asked softly, as though she half-expected the corpse to answer. "Or, rather, who were you?"
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Not that she was afraid of the dark, of course not! The darkness held no terrors for her, not so long as Shar's watchful eyes fell upon her. But she could hear the sound of wolves howling in the distance, their mournful cries causing icy shards of terror to prickle at the nape of her neck.
Little wonder the villagers built this insurmountable wall. Mere wolves would never breach it. She'd be safe if she could just get inside...
Something caught her eye—a glint of metal reflecting the last vestiges of twilight. She paused, standing within the long shadow cast by the towering walls, and spied a slumped figure leaning against the weathered stone. A murder of crows huddled along the battlements, fluffing their feathers for warmth as they cackled to one another. A plume of snow drifted downward and settled against the figure's wide-brimmed hat, which was already coated in a thick layer of it. By the looks of it, he'd been sitting there awhile.
Dead, most likely. She wondered if he was some poor pilgrim that had finally given up the ghost just as he'd reached a place of shelter. Or maybe he was some miscreant who had broken the law and was executed for his crimes, his body tossed by the wayside, without even a proper burial.
Despite her better judgement, Shadowheart approached the corpse, her footsteps marring the pristine blanket of snow coating the ground. The crows watched her with gleaming black eyes, cackling to themselves, as if they were fully aware of the foolishness of disturbing the dead in a land where few found peaceful rest.
Even so, she wasn't above looting corpses. And this one might have useful supplies that would better serve the living.
She was, after all, pragmatic by nature.
A deathly chill settled in the pit of her stomach as she stretched forth her hand, and gently tipped back the wide-brimmed hat.
"Who are you?" she asked softly, as though she half-expected the corpse to answer. "Or, rather, who were you?"