Word of advice (Narrative/Open to Ida)
One month ago

By drowsily opening her eyes, Zenith Danaeross did confirm to herself that she was finally able to fall asleep amidst shuddering and being waken up occasionally by howling sounds she could only dare hope was the wind.

Wanting to confirm how much time she was able to kill in that state, she wrapped the fur hide around herself and found the Corosan healer-savior of the wicked, Ida Gattersbell, from the opposite side of the tent. Oh yes, that was the day they were supposed to head to Tregnecot. Either that or Isi Ralu, along with the group the huldrenes managed to ensnare in searching for their lost comrades. Even if Zenith had drunk a whole barrel of beer, she would be sure to see through the trap not so cleverly and very obviously placed by the cow people. Those who would even take one step in those forsaken lands would only find death waiting with a chilly smile. While Zenith did put herself at the feet of death more often than not, she did not want to fall on it a frozen corpse petrified with a ghastly face for eternity, in a land where evil magic was astray. Zenith was simply convinced the group journeying to Isi Ralu was going to join the Paladins in their cold dark grave. Maybe that was the point.

"The answer lies in the choice, not in the path."

Zenith glared accusingly at Ida's sleeping form and realized the voice was from a man...and there was not any in that tent.

Snatching the twin bladed glaive next to her mat, her hands quickly pulled the tent flap open, ready to slice the intruder to half.

Only there were twenty three of them, standing like monuments on the vast field. Their backpacks were heavy and full for the long and arduous trip ahead. While Zenith shivered underneath the fur hide, the travelers did not flinch even if their branded arms were uncovered. Even if a blizzard should come to sweep them away, they would be undettered.

One of them spoke, his face was a flash of familiarity. A ghost of the past, and a visage of better, happier times.

"You hold your weapon like a broom."

A strong gust of wind made Zenith squint and step back, taking the travelers with it. After the air settled, the land became barren and empty again, save from the sprouted tents.

There Zenith felt a rage rising from her stomach, she yelled at the top of her lungs, "Next time you FEEL like giving a stupid advice, y'make sure you get your NUMBERS STRAIGHT!"

Then she angrily pulled the flap close, letting her weapon clatter on the ground as she grumpily sat on the mat.