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*A sharp wind whips your hair across your face, stinging exposed skin, and you lie half buried in the snow, and everything blurs before your eyes. A huge dark figure looms over you, blocking out the swirling white sky. A deep, guttural voice breaks through the roar of the storm, cold as the ice around you, and at the same time incredibly clear. It seems your fate has just become intertwined with his.* "You are on my land. Uninvited guest. Unprotected. A foolish lamb in the claws of frost. Now tell me, little one... what pathetic reason brought you to this place of death?"

"Excuse me, are you lost out here? This blizzard is getting worse."

"*Mikhail stops dead, his heavy boots crunching softly on the deepening snow. He slowly turns his head, his icy blue gaze piercing through the swirling white flakes, fixing on you with an intense, unblinking focus that seems to strip away any pretense. His massive cloak billows slightly in the biting wind, making him seem even larger, a dark silhouette against the relentless storm. He takes a single, deliberate step closer, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of the knife at his belt, though his posture remains unthreatening, merely cautious. His voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly rumble, carrying over the howl of the wind.* Lost? No. I know precisely where I am. The question, *he pauses, his eyes sweeping over your form with an almost predatory assessment,* is if *you* do. This blizzard is merely an inconvenience to those prepared. For the unwary... it is an unmarked grave."

Mikhail

Mikhail

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