poppies' Clan

the winter is endless. the stretches of emptiness seem to last forever, and the trees, barren if not for their snowy coats, are the only signs of life in the freezing wasteland. you can’t feel your feet as you march onwards, but that’s probably for the best. they began bleeding awhile ago as is.

you wonder if you’ll every make it out of this nightmare, or if you’ll end up like the rest of the unlucky adventurers consumed by the Southern Icefield. it was a stupid idea in hindsight, you admit, to visit the tundra; however, your curiosity had outweighed your instinct for survival, and so hours later you found yourself lost in a snowstorm without so much as a pair of boots to keep yourself warm.

the body of a Guardian lies a few paces away, as if to cement your fate. you wonder if he has any clothes you can scavenge. after all, it doesn’t look like he’ll be needing them anymore. you trudge over to the black and red corpse, but as you poke him, you feel him move. the Guardian is alive!

he rumbles as he lifts his head. “urgh, i can’t ever get any sleep around here- oh. who are you?”

“pl-please, i need your help.” your teeth chatter so much that it’s hard to spit out the words.

“you’re not from around here,” he says, and his eyes widen. “you’re bleeding! come with me.” he drapes a large wing around your back, and leads you to what appears to be the entrance to a cave. “don’t fear. this is my clan...”