the soft uncertainties are gathering around the smell of blood.

Chapter 1: The Night of Gunpowder

Under the light of a full moon, and crickets chirping outside, the noises of packing fill various houses. Someone with hair made of pure fire carefully takes small machines and handfuls of moldable iron and stuffs them into purple and red boxes that open up with a quiet fhip. He just wanted to preserve everything here, but that kill list was breathing down his neck. Along with everyone else's.

As if they'd have any if they stuck around for much longer.

After packing up as many of the boxes as he could hold, someone knocks on his door. He checks, and opens it. Thankfully, it was one of their allies. Sure, it was the king's hand and this help was considered blasphemy, but any help was nice.

"You're all packed up, right?"
"Yeah, yeah."

Bdubs hands him a floor length cloak and he puts it on, knowing what he needs to do in order to stay somewhat alive. He nods, and Bdubs takes his hand. He's guided to the start of a forest, the trees having symbols etched into their bark. He sighs, and heads in with some others. These were strangers to him, but, well, they had to get along.

They'd been traveling for days now. They hadn't appointed a leader for their odd group, but one had risen up. His name was Etho, and he was the only one there that could read the writing on the trees. The noises of firework tipped arrows seemed to constantly be chasing them. They didn't have the time to lay down a camp and eat. Dehydration was the least of their concerns, mostly because everyone there knew how to filter water. They were starving, though. One of them, the shortest one, had brought along something alive. Luckily, it was mechanical. Their supplies were being stretched thin already. It was deep into the night, and their trek through the snow covered forest of the foothills was long from ending. The pops of fireworks were long behind them, but this area was known for wolf attacks, so they had to continue. Suddenly, a goat started to walk alongside them.

They set up camp and tried to split food between them, but without the ability to make a fire it was reasonably hard. Etho, understandably, was quiet.
His mind still hissed with the memory of the execution. The blood of his friend splattering against his face and hands. The roaring of the crowd. The instinctual fear he felt ever since he moved here suddenly having a foundation.
He didn't even notice that he'd started to sob.
The quiet conversation the others had been having stopped as they looked, worriedly, to their leader.