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- - - - - - - - - - - | April 3rd

A wagon rolled up through the gates, followed by another and another. Rickety wagons that had seen a few days of rushed travel made a solemn caravan up to the gated areas of the Anican castle, their creaks and sounds echoing in the barren belly of the day. It was a cold day, made colder still by the thin layer of snow still blanketing the ground, stubborn and refusing to leave the lands of Shyregoad even when the breezes of Spring howled to reclaim their domain. The only thing telling the caravan apart from normal supply wagons was the fact that they had worn drapes of purple tacked onto their sides, a mark of the Fellowship. This was a caravan of mages, refugees from another place loyal to the practice of magic. They stopped around the front entrance of the castle, where they were told to make their stop. Guards stepped free from their posts, acknowledging the familiar banners, but refusing to take chances, and readied their weapons. For all they knew, it could be a trap, a well decorated wagon filled with Obscuvians strapped with fiery explosives, ready and seething to steal away inside the castle and do their part of damage.

What came from the wagon was explosive indeed but it was no servant to the glutton god. It was a small boy, with dusty black hair crowning him underneath the pull of a dusty cap. He stepped out away from the wagon, breathing hard as if he had never seen the open air. With his hands around his ears, he dusted himself off and freed himself from the crouch that he had been stuck in from the past few hours. He stretched his legs, craned his head from side to side, and then, with a dark glower with green eyes, turned back to the caravan, where other doors were opening and expelling the tired travel weary mages within. He moved back to the caravan and spoke briefly with those still inside, and with some help from another pair of hands, small and about the size of his, a body was carefully handled and folded over the young boy's back. He strained as his knees adjusted to carry the weight that was laid onto his back, but, with another few shared words with the other boy inside the caravan, he pulled away and wobbled onto his feet, standing buckled and hunched underneath the weight of another boy. This boy had blonde hair, messily strapped back into a pony tail to expose his pale and ragged face. Drool and freckles of blood were long since crusted onto his lips and chin, which overshadowed the dark splotches ringed around his neck. When he shifted, tell tale signs of the life that he struggled to hold onto, it was easy to see the buboes and the sickness that clogged up the motion in his small form. He shuddered when he wheezed, and his blackened fingers curled into the other boy's shoulders, his head laid against his neck and smothered in his carrier's black hair.

Clurie Clemmings was the first to stride forth from the caravan, glancing once behind him to make sure that the other boy that had helped him in the caravan would soon be forthcoming. He had his own stricken Grimm to carry, and Clurie couldn't help him, not with his own hands folded underneath the thighs of his own.

"Meet me inside!" said the green eyed boy to his friend, "I'm going to get Clemmings out of the cold. This chill can kill them. And as much as a relief that would be for me, I'm going to get him inside where it's warm."

Adjusting his grip on the ill Chauhn Clemmings, Clurie ignored the curious stares of the guards and hopped up the steps of the entryway towards the opening doors of the Anican castle. Behind him, the caravan was coming to life, and soon forthcoming, all those that had left Yizhaq's Estate for safety here in the heart of the Fellowship.

He shouldered his way inside the doorway, and he was immediately put off by the fact that the castle within was only a little bit less cold than it was outside. Straining his face into a scowl, Clurie looked around for familiar faces, or at least someone who might be able to help him. "Where do we go? I have a stricken Grimm with me and he needs rest and warmth! We come from Lord Yizhaq's Estate. Help? Anyone? Anyone at all?"