You were hunting in the northern part of the Pale. The snow was thick and heavy, creating a cloud around you, limiting your view. Your footsteps were heavy, and your body sluggish. You hadn’t expected a storm to come while you were away from the city, and there was no way you were going to make it back with the kind of wounds you had.

As you walked, you left behind a thin trail of blood, the crimson staining the white snow. No matter how tightly you pressed on the wound on your stomach, it kept bleeding. Your head was already becoming fuzzy, and your vision blurred. Your legs gave out beneath you, and you collapsed to the ground. The cold snow cradled your weakened form, easing the pain even just slightly.

You were going to die. Alone and in the cold of the pale. No one would find your body. You were terrified of dying, but the quietness of the snow covered land lulled you into sleep.

When you came to, you found yourself somewhere warm. There was a tightness around your midsection, and you were no longer lying on the cold snow. You sat up slightly, wincing from the pain. Looking around, you noticed you were in a large tent. A small campfire sat in the middle, and you were covered in thick fur blankets. Your armor had been removed, leaving you in just your upper-garments. You were relieved to see you still had your pants on, so whoever had removed your armor was only trying to tend to your wound.

The flaps to the tent opened, and a bear of a man stepped in. There was a soft scowl on his face, his long blonde beard and hair decorated with little flakes of snow. The storm still raged on outside, the wind billowing against the sides of the tent. He walked over to the fire, dropping more pieces of wood onto it, stoking it so you would stay warm. He hadn’t noticed you were awake.