Rebuilding and Defending (Open)

[Vardrache]

It was odd thought to have: that there were perks to being cursed. The one that Vardrache had in mind, however, was his adjustment to the cold. In his dragon form the colder climate of the far north hadn't bothered him much, but his human form felt it more. Only Ice Dragons really didn't seem at all bothered by the cold weather in either form. Being forced to stay in his human form, however, had also forced Var to adjust in kind. Staying on the move or just staying active in general tended to help, but it wasn't necessary.

And even without the benefit of keeping warm, Var would have been perfectly content with helping out the small village he'd stumbled across on his travels. Not long ago there had been a rather ferocious blizzard, Var himself had been nearly caught up in it had he not found a small cave to hole up in. The coniferous trees in the area were bent from the force of those winds and because of the large amount of ice that had built up on the side facing the wind. The trees would endure, the forest would recover. Nature would be certain of that.

As for these poor villagers, however, they had to rebuild on their own. Some houses had their walls knocked down, some had their roofs cave in from bearing too much snow or ice on top. It was a mess, and many had fallen ill from exposure and the extreme temperatures. But Var was different from a human. Stronger in many ways. Even if the humans were falling ill it was not likely that he would succumb to said illness. He could work harder than them all, and he was happy to do so.

Var grunted, two large logs beneath his arms as he entered through half-destroyed village gates. Requiem was likely not meant to be used as a woodman's axe, but the village only had so many to spare and it wasn't like the sword would be damaged from chopping down already nearly fallen trees. The villagers that were capable of working looked on in awe as Var set the large logs down in the village's center, where two large men with great red beards waited to chop them into more usable pieces. Of course, they weren't quite as large as Var, but they were both big men regardless. Brothers, apparently, named Roth and Hagvar. They had taken the leadership role together with their village elder sick, so Var answered to them.

"How many more should I bring?" Var asked, crossing his arms before the men. Roth, the older brother yet a touch shorter, scratched his bearded chin before shrugging. 

"I'd say another six, if you can manage."

Var could manage. Without another word he turned round once again and headed to the village gate.

[Ophelia]

Hm.

Yes, she was definitely lost.

Ophelia stared blankly at the expanse of ice and snow and brown and green that was apparently her world now, slightly regretting not asking whether she should have turned left at Albuquerque. It did not appear that she would be finding the Pleiades Taygete today at all, which was highly unfortunate. She'd been hoping to glean some information from that group of mages. But it wasn't really anyone's fault, the recent blizzard had delayed her travels as well and apparently wreaked havoc on much of the area. She hoped the damage had not been too severe... even if it was strange to her to WANT to live in such a desolate, frozen wasteland, the people who did so did not deserve to suffer so for their choice.

...She didn't have any idea where to shadowstep to, either, so it would simply be a waste of magic. Walking was more efficient, if slower. But that didn't mean she had to like it. Still, all useless complaints aside, Ophelia was... enjoying herself, somewhat. The natural wonders of the world were still quite new to her, and this strange winter wonderland was all the more so. It had a sort of austere beauty to it, harsh but majestic. And the quiet. She was used to either master's laboratory, with the constant sound of machinery in the background, or Arcadia, the city that never slept. Nothing like the soothing warmth and quiet of the Void. This place didn't have the warmth part down very well, but it was quiet.

Well. Quiet-ish. She had been slowly nearing some level of civilization, and while there didn't seem to be a great number of people out and about along the road, Ophelia could hear the sounds of... something coming from what she suspected to be a village. Construction, possibly, or repairs. Sawing, hammering, various mundane arts that she had never really understood. The small abyssal hesitated only for a short while before resigning herself to investigating, her curiosity getting the better of her not for the first time. It did not appear that she was going to accomplish anything productive today regardless.

Following the road was somewhat more difficult than it should be due to snow drifts, but in time Ophelia found the village's front gate nonetheless. An honor she apparently shared with a male warrior of some sort, or at least he looked like a warrior more than a villager. Maybe a bandit? He wasn't covered in blood and holding dead babies though, so she assumed that wasn't the case. Vaguely aware that people didn't tend to take kindly to a pale, morose girl staring blankly at them for too long, the small Voidborn inclined her head slightly and offered a polite, albeit possessed of her usual flat intonation, "Hello."

[Vardrache]

The rebuilding process, for at least Vardrache, had been rather robotic. Leave the village, chop down trees, carry trees back, repeat. There wasn't much to really think about, and maybe that was why Vardrache couldn't help but enjoy it. Yes the cold was a bit much, he was still adapting to dealing with it in his human form, but so long as he kept busy physically there didn't seem to be any real issues. He could sort of just turn his brain off and work. Helping these poor villagers was also a big plus, of course. Anything he could do to ease their suffering.

A quiet albeit flat voice managed to wake his mind, however. Vardrache glanced over and spotted what appear to be a small young woman, dark of hair and pale of skin, with a rather...inexpressive face. She was so small compared to him, though, Vardrache had to wonder if she was some human child. Dressed a bit oddly...was she lost? Certainly she wasn't from around these parts.

"...Hello." Vardrache's tone was similar to the girl's, but there was a distinct trace of warmth, and his face carried a ghost of a smile. "I'm sorry, but I have to ask. Are you lost, little one?"

Logs and trees could wait a moment. It would be wrong to leave this small young thing out in the cold alone. If nothing else he could bring her back to the village. They were short on supplies, but if they would not have her then he would simply share his earnings with her. His body was sturdy and strong, even without the ability to shift, so he didn't mind having to share food if need be.

[Ophelia]

The fact that the strange man had actually given her a response and his attention rather than simply brushing her off as an incidental meeting took Ophelia off guard entirely. She had just assumed they would give each other cursory greetings and be on their way, so this was far outside of her expectations and she hadn't had time to mentally prepare for it. "I-I-" The small abyssal paused, closing and opening her mouth between the two tiny words like a fish stuck out of water. Not exactly the reaction of a mature and well adjusted woman, but then she was exactly none of those, so it wasn't really that surprising to the objective observer that she might stutter a bit.

...She really didn't know how to react to the... kindness in his tone either. Ophelia was used to being quietly useful or more recently just a nuisance to most of those she interacted with. Not for the first time, she surreptitiously checked behind her to see if anyone was there before she could be fairly certain he was actually talking to her. Well then. Given a moment to compose herself, it wasn't difficult for Ophelia to lapse into her learned behavior, recognizing the need to respond to his question and compose herself in a manner befitting her position.

As for what that position was - well - she wasn't entirely certain. Things were much simpler when she at least had a clear master-servant relationship to work off of. For the time being, she resolved to simply be polite and honest. It seemed like a good policy. "Yes. Severely." Back in control of herself, her diction had returned to the dull precision of normality for her. It didn't seem like a very... full answer, though. She wasn't sure what to add to it, but Ophelia resigned herself to continuing the subject nonetheless in a lame attempt to minimize the damage. "I'm not in a hurry to be anywhere, though. I just wanted to see what was making so much sound."

Smooth.

[Vardrache]

The youngling seemed to be shy, at least at first. She stammered and paused, leading Vardrache to believe he may have intimidated her. He dwarfed the young lady in size, after all, and he did carry Requiem on his back. He supposed that she had more than enough reason to be intimidated, even if she had been the one to initiate the conversation in the first place. However she did eventually give him a response...a peculiar one at that. According to her she was, in fact, lost. Quite so. Yet she didn't seem to be in much of a hurry? 

Perplexing.

Vardrache genuinely did not know what to make of that. If one was lost so far north they surely HAD somewhere they intended to go. Yet this girl was simply led to him through curiosity. She heard a lot of sound, no doubt the sound of chopping wood and hammers. The sound of that poor village being rebuilt. Hmm, it was all curious indeed, but the little girl did not look to be guilty in any way, shape, or form. Vardrache decided he would continue to give her the benefit of the doubt.

"I see. The noise you hear may well be from the villagers and myself. We are rebuilding a village that was nearly destroyed by a blizzard. Busy work, really." Indeed, and Vardrache did need to go back to it. He gazed around the area for some sizable trees, tall with thick trunks that hadn't been too damaged by the storm. He turned his back to the girl and walked closer to the treeline, studying them carefully. "I do not live there, but I could not ignore their plight. They are in desperate need of aid, and so I'm doing what I can until they are safe and sheltered again."

Deciding on a tree Vardrache gripped the trunk with both of his hands tightly, his fingers cracking the bark of the tree as a result. Bending his knees and taking care to lift with his thighs and not his back, Vardrache began to pull the tree. He grunted for his efforts, the roots that locked the tree to the frozen ground ripping and tearing so loudly no doubt the girl behind him could hear. With a deeper, louder grunt Vardrache stood at full height, wrapping his large arms around the trunk completely as he tore the thing from the earth.

Rather than hold onto it for long, Vardrache turned round and set it down on the snow covered ground, taking a moment to catch his breath. Such a feat would have been simple were he able to tap fully into his draconic form, but it was still feasible with greater effort. After he caught his breath he glanced towards the young girl once again.

"If you're able, I'm sure the villagers could use any help you could offer...assuming you're interested."

[Ophelia]

Destroyed by a blizzard...?

Ophelia wasn't entirely sure that this guy wasn't just messing with her, but she had never seen a blizzard so she couldn't rule out the possibility. There WAS a lot of snow everywhere, and she had heard other people talking about blizzards. So there was at least a possibility that it was the truth, and it would be rude to take it as being anything else.

What confused her a bit more was the strange, large man's casual explanation of why he was there. He didn't have to, but he was helping them anyways? It didn't look easy. Well... Ophelia amended that statement as Vardrache casually ripped a fucking tree out of the ground. Maybe it was easy for him. He wasn't threatening her, so she didn't react defensively, but there was a certain quantity of stiffness in her pose as she tried to cope with what she had seen. Hers was the realm of magic, not might, and while Arcadia was full of many strange things, there hadn't been much of a spectacle of that kind of strength. Perhaps he was some kind of warrior?

But... to be honest, she didn't care that much. It was impressive, but did not change what she thought of him: he had not harmed her before, and he had not done so now. What really bothered her was his simple decision to help the villagers. There was no material reason for him to do so if he was so strong - she judged it extremely unlikely that a simple village would have enough resources to pay him off. At most, lodging, and he was strong enough to take that if he wanted. The loyalty, or more likely appreciation, of a small village was worth little either. So pragmatically speaking, he was doing nothing but wasting his time, completely and utterly, for absolutely no real value. Inefficient allocation of resources for personal benefit.

Was it like what she had tried to do for Zach?

Ophelia wasn't happy about not understanding why the man was doing what he was, but he had given her a suggestion. She wasn't sure what his motives were, but it wouldn't hurt to find out. And it didn't sound like the worst way to spend some time. She bowed lightly, both body and head, crossing her hands to the groan of rustled steel as her chains rustled in the wake of motion. She was quite good at keeping them nearly soundless out of necessity - Master complained if the noise distracted him - but motion was difficult to mask. "...Understood. This Ophelia looks forward to working with you."

[Vardrache]

Vardrache studied the small girl, who met him with a tense yet otherwise...blank expression. Surely she must have been hiding something. She showed very little reaction to his tree-lifting feat, if any at all. Hm...nevertheless she agreed to aid the villagers with him, and Vardrache wasn't going to say no to some extra help. Those villagers surely did need it. "I thank you then, Ophelia. You may call me Vardrache, and I look forward to working with you as well."

Vardrache crouched down, snow crunching beneath the toes of his boots, to examine the tree. The frozen half of the branches would be easily dealt with, but the healthy half not so much. He sighed and stood once again, drawing Requiem before speaking. "Though I still am not sure how you can help. Do you know how to work with wood at all? Can you chop lumber? Hammer nails? Anything of that sort? What are your capabilities?" He didn't like to bombard her with questions, but he was skeptical and a touch worried. She was so small and skinny, he doubted she would be able to handle much serious labor for long.

Grunting, Vardrache gripped Requiem and pulled the sword over his shoulder, bringing down in a sweeping arc across the frozen branches. The sword glinted, catching the sunlight across it's blade before striking the branches with enough force to outright shatter them. They'd been frozen to their core, and thus could simply be shattered. Vardrache repeated this process, shattering the icy branches with Requiem, sending flecks of ice and diamond dust into the air with each swing.

He took a pause with a sigh, that side cleared out. Shame that was the easy part.

"Of course..." He spoke now as an after thought. "You could even simply cook food for the men and women that labored, or help forage food. Soon as I'm finished with this tree I can take you to the men leading this rebuilding. Good folk, they'll set you to work on anything you can contribute to."

[Ophelia]

How could she help indeed. Hm. Ophelia raised her head from the bow and watched Vardrache work, trying to think of an answer that wouldn't disappoint him. She didn't know anything about wood. She wasn't sure what lumber was. She had seen people using nails before but wasn't sure how they worked. She DEFINITELY didn't have any big fancy weapons or tremendous strength like Vardrache seemed to have no issue showing off. Not that the abyssal especially minded watching. It was intriguing to see him use such incredible strength for menial labor, using the same casual practicality with which he might lop a foe in half or crush through armor. If she could go so far as to say so... it was actually pretty cool.

-But it wasn't helping her figure out how to be useful. Modulating magic. Acting as a conduit in Master's experiments. Becoming an anchor to the Nether. Combat magic. Medium-scale destruction. Making tea. Being patient. She was reasonably competent at all of them. None of them really had much relevance to chopping up wood. Needless to say Ophelia was thoroughly grateful, to drastically understate it, when Vardrache offered yet more options. Both that he would take the time to think for someone as useless as her, and that she was fairly sure she could actually do one of them. "I can cook?" It came out more questioning than she had intended, almost hesitant, but she had been fairly hasty with the thought process and not thought to actually synchronize mind and tongue together.

Yes, she could definitely do that. Ophelia wasn't GREAT at it per se, but given a recipe and the materials, she could replicate it very efficiently. "And - I can help you carry branches there," she added, almost pleading, trying to think of ways to be useful. "But... smaller ones." Unfortunately, any level of magical prowess did not translate very well to being physically strong, and she had never really thought about it much until being ejected to Elibe proper. The big V was gonna have to deal with anything large, but maybe getting some of the small stuff that would otherwise inevitably fall off the stack in motion could help out a bit too.

[Vardrache]

The little one took some time to weigh her options, it seemed. Not that Vardrache minded. He still had some work to be done, and even if she was unsure he could always bring her back to the village. Roth would likely find something suitable for her that he couldn't think of. So Vardrache patiently rolled the tree over to it's non-frozen side. The side that still had branches on it. These would take a bit more care than simply shattering them, so instead of using Requiem immediately Vardrache knelt down and began to tear out the longest branches. Ones with the most pine needles. He could definitely cut through the branches, but he needed to be able to see them in order to do so.

Eventually Ophelia piped up, though she did not seem to sure about her own suggestion. It was more as if she was asking him if she had that option, which brought Vardrache to a pause. He looked up to observe her expression, to see if maybe he misheard her or to find some further clarity.

He found none. However she did offer him another option, such as assisting him in carrying back some branches. That did make things easier. There was not much wood off the branches to offer, but they could be used to keep some fires going a bit longer. The village had several burning, to make sure nobody froze to death. They already had to bury a few who succumbed during the blizzard itself, sadly, but at least they could keep from adding to that body count. 

"If you wish, the village could certainly use someone to help with cooking. Or gathering food, assisting other cooks, distributing food amongst the workers. It would be a great help." Vardrache spoke true and opted to assume she had genuinely meant she was able to cook, while offering smaller options if she was uncertain about her skill in that area. Even simple tasks meant quite a bit during such a time. Vardrache yanked out the last large branch and nodded, standing up at full height once more and gripping Requiem. "As for the branches...well, that would be helpful. If you can carry the ones I cut and rip off here, then we can use them to stoke fires."

Vardrache lifted Requiem over his shoulder once more. Fitting that he used the sword like a woodsman's axe. He had no formal training with a sword, let alone a greatsword such as Requiem. He may as well be swinging a sharp stick. Still, he brought it down in sweeping arcs across the tree, steadily lopping off the smaller branches. As soon as one area was cleared of branches Vardrache shifted his feet further up, steadily making his way from the tree's base to it's peak. It did not take long for him to have effectively shaved the tree completely, to which Vardrache nodded and sheathed Requiem.

"All right, grab as much as you can and come with me." Vardrache knelt down and gripped the tree with both hands, grunting a bit as he stood at full height, shifting the tree so that he was holding it under one arm. Pausing, he turned to look down at the small girl. "And thank you, in advance."

[Ophelia]

"I can cook," she repeated, this time with something resembling certainty. Not for Vardrache's benefit so much as her own; it was something familiar, a lifeline to grab and cling to. She didn't want to be useless. More than she wanted to help even, Ophelia was terrified of the idea of being useless - because what good was she without a use? To serve was all she really knew, and so she had to find some way to do it. "And I will help carry branches."

Somewhat more in her element, the hesitation evaporated from her demeanor, followed shortly by most of her (limited) visible emotion. She trailed Vardrache like a ghost, exceptionally adept at staying out of the way as he worked and so quiet she might as well not have been there, gathering branches in his wake. And what a wake it was! This world was a strange place indeed for strength such as that to be wasted on mere woodcutting. Not that she would say as much. The little abyssal wouldn't know what flattery was if it punched her in the face, and she was even fuzzier on the idea of talking when others were working.

Granted, it was the dragon doing the work rather than her, but between the two of them they went through the work in rather short order. She was happy about that. Or at least, Ophelia thought she was. She wasn't sure what she actually thought about any of this, but it was enough to have something to keep her occupied.

By the time Vardrache was ready to leave, he could be forgiven for assuming that Ophelia had been kidnapped by a wood ghost, or possibly transformed into a dryad who was very bad at her job, given that very little of her was visible from behind the neat but unruly stack of branches obscuring most of her form - and there wasn't much to hide. It was a fairly neat stack though, which she was privately very proud of. Admittedly, in terms of sheer volume, it wasn't exactly impressive, but in terms of relative size it was more than a bit ungainly, and had they been logs rather than branches she would have been very sore put to lift them much less carry them anywhere.

"Understood," she responded simply to the former of the tall man's dual comments as they prepared to leave, not really sure how to respond to the latter. She wasn't used to people... thanking her. She just did things. Come to think of it, she still didn't really understand why HE was doing it either. Ophelia hid her hesitation well, as she usually did, but it was difficult to drive entirely from her voice as they started walking. "...Why are you helping them?"

[Vardrache]

Ophelia reassured Vardrache, and perhaps herself, that she would be able to cook for the village. Vardrache didn't offer a reply, as she had said this while he was busy chopping branch after pesky branch off the tree. Really he supposed this part of the job wasn't necessarily required, in that HE didn't need to be the one that did it. But Vardrache had already reflected on his decision, before he actually bothered to make said decision. It wasn't something he normally talked about.

Yet Ophelia, her entire upper half humorously hidden by the stack of uneven branches he'd lopped off, asked the right question to prod him into re-thinking that mindset. It really ought to have been a simple question. All of the villagers would answer "well I live there". Maybe the typical traveler would be "I'm staying there" or "I'm being paid by them. Yet while Vardrache had been offered hospitality, that reward was not his reason for lending his aid. At first he had wanted to say that he aided them because it was the right thing to do. There was truth to that, but...

"I'm helping them because I can." Was the answer he gave her. The dragon stood up straight and eased Requiem gently into it's sheath before kneeling down in front of the barren tree trunk. There wasn't much he could do about the ice that clung to the bark. An attempt to shatter it could wind up snapping the entire tree, sadly. He gripped the trunk with both hands and stood up tall, lifting it with an ease most men wouldn't even imagine of. Carefully shifting it under his arm, and turning around with equal care so as not to knock poor Ophelia in the head, he proceeded to steadily walk to the village. He was much taller than her, and those branches looked difficult to balance, so he didn't want to rush her with a quick pace.

His mind went back to the rather curt response he'd given her. While that was the main factor in his decision making, it likely didn't enlighten the girl very much. She was probably just trying to get to know him...though she did so in a bit of an awkward manner, he had to admit. Hm, he supposed he could be awkward as well.

"If I know that I can help someone in need, that I have the ability or strength required, then it just wouldn't sit right with me to do nothing." He elaborated as he walked, snow and ice crunching beneath his boots. "These villagers are good people, as far as I can tell, and they didn't deserve this, so I lend them my strength." Close, very close, but even that didn't quite get his point across. Agh, it was always a bit frustrating for him. HE understood what he meant, but even as he spoke he was aware that his words may not clearly convey his message or meaning.

Rather than prattle on he simply continued to walk, awaiting for Ophelia's response. The village was close now, nearly in view and...hm. The dragon's eyes narrowed as he witnessed a large group, dressed in weathered, snow covered cloaks and furs, began to crowd around the village gate...or rather, where the gate once stood. Instead all that stood between this crowd and the village proper was the man in charge of the village's rebuilding, or one of them at least: Rolf.

[Ophelia]

Because he could. That was... an answer. It wasn't a very helpful answer, but it was more of an answer than, say, no answer at all. Barely. But Vardrache didn't seem interested in expounding, and Ophelia wasn't sure if she had offended him, so she just did her best to keep up with him in the silence of a frozen wonderland. Certainly she didn't mind the silence, the small abyssal had never been particularly perturbed about keeping quiet, and it was much nicer than being entirely alone. And she was useful. So all in all, she wasn't particularly perturbed by the situation, even if perhaps she could have been.

In time Vardrache continued the subject on his own, surprising her a little out of her thoughts, though her muffled squeak was fairly well hidden behind a barricade of browns and greens. Thankfully he wasn't walking nearly as fast as his far larger legs could allow so she didn't have to scurry too much to keep up, but it was still a bit of a challenge given the snow, something she wasn't used to and couldn't forge through as easily as him. So this was his... morality. He helped them because he could. Huh. That did make the earlier comment make more sense, in a circular sort of way. It did, because... it did. Ophelia found that she could understand Vardrache's struggle a little better now, even if she wasn't entirely happy about that fact.

Questions of morality and ethics were... difficult to her. She didn't understand them very well, and master had never cared one way or the other, so she'd never really had any reason to learn. But she did like how Vardrache's explanation sounded. It was simple and direct. It seemed very - him. Whatever that meant. Ophelia nodded appreciatively, or at least it was meant to be so. She didn't really have any ideas of what to say, but an explanation like that deserved... something. So she winged it, as seemed to be becoming more and more common these days. "That sounds nice."

In the wake of her truly unprecedented outburst and an entire three words of praise, the smol abyssal lapsed back into silence as they approached a crowd of some sort around what she assumed was the entrance to the village. Something in the air tasted wrong. She didn't need to have known them personally to know that much at least, even if she had no idea why there was a problem or how to solve it. Well. If the problem was just that they were there, she could solve it. But some of them might not like her solution. So it was probably better to defer to her superior here, as always, and in this particular situation, that meant... Vardrache.

"They aren't your friends, are they."

[Vardrache]

"No...not from the looks of it." Vardrache's reply was blunt, his focus less on Ophelia and more on the others. She was with him, behind him. Safe. However he started to feel a sense of dread. Such a large grouping of humans out in the midst of nowhere like this was...unusual, to say the least. Since his time in the area Vardrache had seen more humans settled in, bracing themselves for blizzards like the one that had just hit, not on the move.

"Please...just let us in..."

"We swear we won't be any trouble..."

"We've nowhere else to go...nothing to eat..."

Wait...the blizzard...oh no.

Without so much as another word Vardrache walked over towards the grouping of humans. Their cloaks and clothes were in such poor shape, and Vardrache's heart fell when he saw their faces. Their skin. Cheeks were flushed with blood, but most of their faces were covered in layers of frost and snow. Many of them had a frightening lack of meat and fat on their faces...Vardrache doubted the rest of them were in better shape. So skinny, it's likely been days since they've eaten. Nearly all of them were shivering, a few coughing far harder than one should, doubling over...

"Listen to 'em. You think we're lying? All we want is some food and shelter, any that you can spare." One voice spoke louder, firmer than the others, as Vardrache weaved his way through the crowd. He dropped the tree trunk on the ground, the snow only doing so much to dampen the "thud" that followed it. Upon noticing him most of the humans backed away at the sight of him, scared of the large man with an almost equally large sword on his back. There wasn't much Vardrache could do about that, he could not fault the hungry and homeless for fearing anything, let alone himself.

"I'm not sayin' that yer lying." Roth gave a firm reply, his brother Hadvar walking up behind him, as if to provide some form of backup. "I'm sayin' we don't have the resources. Our people are scared and hungry too, and we've only just set about building roofs over our heads. Our hunters and gatherers find far too little, just enough to get through the day."

"Roth..." Vardrache attempted to speak, having approached the bearded man, but his voice was drained out by the angrier voice from early. The man who spoke had messy black hair, covered in snow, and had the makings of a beard on his face as well.

"You'd leave us out to die, then?! Turn us away knowing what fate would await us?"

The younger ones in the large group began to sob, their parents kneeling down to attempt to console them. The scene pulled at Vardrache's heart, yet even as his mind raced he could not think of a solution. He knew that Roth WAS in the right here: their village could barely sustain itself, let alone another population.

Yet he could not just leave it at that. There had to be another way to handle this.

"I'm sorry. That's just how it is..."

"Yeah? Well to hell with that!" The black haired man pulled out a hatchet. The blade of the ax had seen many a log, perhaps even a bit of battle, fending off wolves and other creatures that may be driven to prey on a group of humans, their natural prey hidden or killed off in the blanket of snow. However the man, clearly, was no seasoned warrior. He attempted to run past Vardrache, hatchet raised high, but the dragon turned and blocked his path.

"Wait, ple-" Before he could finish his sentence the man swung his weapon at Vardrache's chest, not hesitating for an instant, but his eyes went wide with shock when the blade cracked against Vardrache's flesh. The swing did hurt, to an extent, and Vardrache did feel it...but it felt closer to a strangely jagged fist knocking against his body. It did not leave him aching, nor did it break his skin. It was almost more discomforting than it was painful. The silver haired dragon winced all the same, and lowered a hand down to the man's axe, gripping the shaft tightly. "...As I was saying, there must be-"

"Agh! Gods! Let me go you freak!" The black haired man screamed, pulling away at his hatchet in an attempt to free it from Vardrache's grasp, yet to no avail. He even kicked at the dragon's legs, before turning his head back to his fellow villagers and calling out: "H-help me you gits! If we don't stand up now we'll be left to die!"

The vagabonds looked conflicted. Many of them simply stepped away, gripping their loved ones in fear. Some, however, had weapons of their own...if they could be called as such. Sickles, hoes, shovels: tools of a farmer, not of warriors. Their eyes were desperate and hungry as they stepped carefully towards Vardrache...

[Ophelia]

This was all... far beyond her pay grade. Ophelia was generally able to follow the situation, but had no experience or understanding that offered an easy solution; she understood better now what Vardrache had been referring to in regards to the damage to the village, though, and how that could extend to these other villagers from elsewhere. It was easy enough to understand that one town could not support the population of two, especially when the damage caused left the former barely able to support itself WITH Vardrache's help. It was also, unfortunately, quite easy to see that this was... unlikely to end well, especially when one of the opposing force's members approached Vardrache - and attacked him.

He was not her master. That was the only reason the man did not die on the spot. But Vardrache was the closest thing she had to a benefactor for now, and if only out of gratitude for his taking the time to help her, she would defend him if necessary. The though that they were 'innocent' did not occur to her, and she would have ignored the thought even if it had; all that mattered is that they were a threat to her temporary companion, and might be to her as well, and most of her conscious existence had been as a bodyguard whose sole purpose was to aid her master with anything he requested. Morality did not enter the equation and she saw no reason why it should.

But neither did she particularly WANT to butcher all these people. It was completely unnecessary at this point in time; most were of no threat to anyone here, and killing outside of self-defense didn't benefit anyone. She would have done it in a heartbeat if Master had ordered it, but he was not here to do so, which left her with... her own judgement, and little else, to guide her actions.

Ophelia decided she did not like that notion at all.

But bereft of any obvious voice to tell her what to do, she had to do SOMETHING, and the best she could think of to do was to try to quell the chance at bloodshed before she was forced to end it permanently. The small abyssal stepped forward, around Vardrache and his victim(?), bowing respectfully to the group. "Please remain calm." She didn't exactly cut an... imposing figure, her head somewhere around Vardrache's chest and no obvious weapons or magic about her, but there was something barely off-putting about the air around her, something subtle at the periphery of vision but never quite in focus, for those who looked closely. Though it didn't seem like many were looking all that closely. "I will try to help you, so please-" Please what? Ophelia didn't really know. She certainly didn't have a plan for what to say next, especially if this effort didn't bear fruit. But she didn't want to see the situation continue to escalate unnecessarily. There had to be something she could do, or Vardrache, he was wise and seemed to know answers to everything she asked so perhaps he had the solution to this too, if only these people would give him the chance to speak?

[Vardrache]

This situation was not ideal.

Vardrache's only true consolation was that none of the mob looked to be anywhere near strong enough to cause him any real damage. They could not break his bones, or puncture his flesh. Sure, he felt the blows from the mob leader as he struggled to pull his weathered hatchet free, but none of them caused any pain. If they needed to beat their fear and frustrations out on Vardrache, then he could take it. But that still did not provide any solutions for the situation at hand. If nothing Vardrache was...certain that he could not provide a solution.

Even if he was helping the ravaged village in their recovery efforts, he himself was not one of them. What say did he have in who they took into their ranks? In an ideal situation the village would be willing to make some effort. To at least take in the women and children, if nobody else. Yet Rolf still stood behind him, wary of any vagrants they may try to slip past Vardrache in the midst of the growing melee, no doubt. It was likely for the best. Vardrache did not need any help in fending off the vagrants, but the village did need to be protected.

Villagers had begun to approach the scene, behind Rolf, curious as to the commotion. What they, and Ophelia, no doubt saw was one man locked in a futile struggle against the imposing dragon, and numerous poorly armed men and women caught between the will to fight for their lives. They were weak and weary from hunger and exposure to the elements. Not only were their wills uncertain, but their bodies hindered them as well.

Except for the mob leader. In a spring of luck he wrenched his hatchet free. Madness from the ravenous hunger that wracked his being spurred him on. He let out a cry of rage and desperation, a sound that drew forth a great sorrow from the bronzed dragon. Beyond that pitiful shout, though, was a far more even voice. It was Ophelia. She had stepped forward, closer to the mob and its leader, and tried to keep them calm.

Her...diminutive stature seemed to work to her benefit, at least at the moment. The other men and women seemed uncertain. Perhaps fearful that Ophelia was powerful, like Vardrache was, or perhaps reluctant to attack a young, frail looking woman. Caught between desperation and what little human morality they still had.

This, however, did not stop the leader. He drew his hatchet back and prepared to swing it right down on Vardrache's head. The dragon...closed his eyes. If anything the blade would blunt itself on his head. If he needed to endure this man's anger in order to restore order to the situation, then so be it.