[u]Ku Rudo Mountains[/u] The high, snow-capped ranges of the Ku Rudo region were barren, uninhabitable except for the animals stark with power in their pelts built for the powerful winds and frigid temperature. Yet, plumes of smoke rose from a large alcove of trees, and the wind-warped the crackling fire that, despite their effort, had provided minimal warmth to those who camped out here. They have bundled in an armor of heavy iron with fur coats draped from shoulder pauldrons, rigid machetes reflecting the flames of the hearth and relict rifles laid on the blankets of fresh snow, desperately trying to warm up as their bottoms froze from sitting on the wet plank wood. It was freshly cut and still splintered, jagged, but more comfortable than the snow, if minimally. "Jesus Christ, how cold is it?" A voice piped up as frosted breaths rose from cracks in the square helmet of patch-work irons welded together, just barely enough to resemble armor. They laughed and sighed, as if not brave enough to answer the question, and continued to huddle and rub their hands on their legs. "Anyways... Is she still intact?" The same person questioned to the others. They shrugged, and after a second of silence except for the howling wind pervading all within the mountain range, one stood and walked further into the wooded area, trudging his legs through the snow. The others watched him disappear into the snowy abyss before they turned back to the fire for nourishment. The one who had walked away struggled to wade through the thick layers of powder and searched for something. Dusk had begun to set, and visibility waned quickly, yet he hurried forward when he saw something startling. A burlap sack, splattered with blood, about the size of a human body, but with its side torn open. "Shit," he muttered, his eyes wide with fear. She had escaped. His eyes had never closed, either, as they dilated with shock when a silver knife embroiled with jewels and engravings slashed across his neck. It was brutally cut wide, and an arc of blood sputtered from the brutal opening as he fell face-first into the snow. As he fell he released a cry of pain, his life only to end a second after, one carried by the wind to the campsite. The men darted their heads to the side at the shriek, and one stood immediately, tall in stature and muscular under the thick plating. The other, much younger and the only without a helmet, had his face flush with fear over a red complexion from the freezing air. He quickly stood, hesitant to grab his old and worn gun, barely jury-rigged into functionality. The two walked together to the sound of the scream, alert, prepared for skirmish. The taller one strode with much more pride and confidence, machete painted with dry blood and gray matter swaying as he walked. The other, timid and scared, huddling behind his comrade for protection. They went further through the wood, but soon the young lad had found himself separated from his superior, lost within the tall grove of trees and swirling snow. A dark figure darted behind the thick conglomerate of thin, bristling cedar wood, and by impulse the boy sent a volley of bullets across the trees, splintering them, though nothing was there. The gunshots resonated through the valley and fire raising from the barrel illuminated the now completely dark woods. He shivered in fear, looking around, waiting for an attacked. And two eyes glowed in the darkness, the sounds of springs coiling as a large bolt was fired, piercing the ankle of the boy between the parting of his leg armor and thick boots lined with wool. He clutched to the ground and moaned in pain, but soon the eyes had disappeared. The larger man had heard the groans and recognized them as that of his companion's, but figuring the boy had died, he continued on through the snow, taking his helmet off to increase visibility. He was rather handsome, with ash-blonde hair, deep blue eyes and a rugged, half-shaven look to him, a glorious bristling mustache pervaded with freckles of snow. And from the trees a dark wisp had pounced on him, using sharp claws at the ends of her grieves to claw at his head. His skin was ripped, ragged, and blood slid down his face and into his eyes. He screamed, using brute force to fling away the girl back into the snow, the metallic taste of his own blood filling the mouth, wiping away the blood from a rip over his brow. She rebounded quickly and unleashing a volley of sharp, sleek throwing knives from slits in her gauntlet. The man deflected them with the plating of his arm and rushed the girl, pinning her to the tree and smashing her face with the iron greave. It hurt both, but part of the assassin's face was now bruised and torn. With a growl she kicked the man's knee, sending it to snap into a crooked position. He screamed in pain and barely stood as she pounced on him, clawing his eyes out, sticky, warm blood now covering the duration of his face. And once the man felt his arm snap lie a twig as she contorted it into a way not possible, he begged for mercy. And yet, the final crunch came with his neck, twisted to the side, his eyes bulging and his face still pained even as he died. She stood and rubbed her tender face, bruised and battered, coughing out a tooth for good measure and trudging away. ~~~ [u]Dojo Gates, Four Days Later[/u] The bruise that swallowed her face was now little more than a black eye as she wearily walked upwards, fighting the elements as she faced the raging blizzard, yet showing little of the burning that filled her legs and waist. At. the top of this hill, she shallowly exhaled in relief when the sign displaying the Dojo had shown. She strode towards the huge walls of lopsided stone, forming a heavy bastion atop the snow-capped mountain, seeking entrance into the haven for warriors, magicians, and creatures of all kinds. [spoiler]Open[/spoiler]