The cold is one thing, the conditions as of late are anything but your typical cold. Weapons are freezing up, no one can do too much, and tempers are at a high. Which is good that weapons are freezing over. There is very little snow, but the wind may as well scythe through the soul.
At the tavern, Foxes’ Respite, a lone figure looks out to the outlying dock area as if expecting the weather to magically shift. It’s been three days of these boreal winds, and not a ship has docked, nor has one been sighted in days. (Internally: You know it is cold when the wolves hunker down). Glaive, turns to the group of people that have been trapped indoors, grabs a log and tosses it on the fire, before returning to a table of friends.
There are large contingents of Sea Wolves and The Miheisto who have been residing in the bar if only because it is the next biggest place next to the local inns which are already filled to people taking shelter from the cold. With cabin fever setting in, and two rowdy groups being forced to sit still, you realize the Foxes’ Respite is a powder keg waiting for someone or something to light the fuse….