Hello and welcome to a private roleplay between Mageling and -Enigma. Although, sadly, you won't be able to participate in the writing of this story, you're most welcome to read along or send us some feedback on whether you're enjoying or not enjoying it. Thank you for cooperating. ^^

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The icy wind blew, rattling the single glazed windows of the small shack that Igor inhabited. He was hunched over the table that was in the centre of the room, paper was scattered all over the scratched surface, the majority of the crooked writing smudged or splotched due to his clumsiness with his fountain pen. However, it was not just the table that Igor had covered in paper, scrunched and abandoned pieces were strewn all over the dusty floorboards, coming into view every so often as the flames in the hearth flickered higher around the cooking pot which was bubbling merrily on its hook.

"Blast!" Igor shouted, thumping his fist on the table with such a force that several sheets of paper fluttered to the floor.

Igor rolled his latest work into a ball and tossed it into the fire, sending a shower of sparks into the room. He got up from the table, scraping the heavy chair across the floor as he went. His tall stature dominated the small room almost at once, a man of such a height shouldn't be confined to a one roomed shack, well, that was the views that Igor had anyway. Not just his build, but his prowess in society should allow him to have a better home than this, surely. Igor fumed about this as he paced the short walking space that he had. Soon, very soon in fact, his plans would come to fruition. Soon no-one would forget the name Igor Rhys.

He couldn't help but allow himself a deep and menacing cackle at the very thought. He rubbed his hands together as he mulled over the events in his mind, his pale and greasy skin glinting in the soft glow that the fire was emitting, his smile growing wider and more disconcerting by the second.

A loud popping sound from the bubbling pot brought Igor back to the present, his cold eyes swiftly moving over to the fire. He strode over, lifting a spoon from the sloping mantle as he moved. He dipped the cracked and rounded end into the brown ooze, which in actual fact was a stew that he was making with a few vegetables that were past their best and a small rabbit that he caught in a trap, and stirred softly so the violent bubbles calmed. He inhaled deeply as he did this. He may not be the most prominent man in the culinary field, but as far as he was concerned, he was not a bad cook.

There was a knocking at the door. Igor did not hasten to answer, he licked the spoon and placed it back on the mantle before turning on his heel.

"About time..." he muttered with a hint of annoyance.

Clara Stiele pulled her cloak tighter against the bitter cold as she hiked through the snow. Her cloak was a plain, dark brown thing, by no means fancy or elaborate. The winter had been harsh this year, and resources were spread far too thin. Even a warming spell woven into the fabric of her cloak couldn't completely keep out the wind that cut through her like an icy knife. It didn't help that she was a petite woman, and didn't have much of a 'natural defense' against the cold. She pulled her cloak tighter again when a particularly strong gust blew down her hood. The cold made her eyes sting and water, and it turned her skin raw. She could even feel the cold through her boots, even though she was wearing more than one layer of socks. She had found that her boots didn't hold warming spells all that well when they were already spelled against water, though, or she would have laid one on them already. Inwardly, she grumbled. Why was she the one who had to come all the way out here. None of the elders even liked Igor, so why did they keep sending people out to check up on him?

Finally, Clara managed to find Igor's home. It was a shabby little place, but it seemed sturdy enough to keep out the bitterly cold winter. Smoke was rising from the chimney and being whipped away by the wind, just barely visible against the dark sky. It was dark all the time, during the winter. The sun wouldn't rise again until the spring, and would start to vanish again in the fall. The smoke was all the sign that Clara needed to tell her that Igor was home. She went over to the door, grateful that it took her out of the wind for a minute. She took moment to shake out and straighten her cloak, and then knocked on the door. When she didn't get an answer, she knocked again. In her mind, she was still snarling. It was cold, it was dark, and she had a warm bed waiting for her at home, so why had she agreed to come out here again?

Oh. Right. She owed the elders a favor, and someone needed to check in on Igor once a month. She had no idea why, but she trusted the elders, so she did as she was asked.