Justice is swift and cruel. Only days ago the warmth of the Varisian plains washed over you. Now, nothing but bitter frost seeps into your bones. Every surface is devoid of life, giving purchase only to the ice.
It’s been weeks of walking along ravines and over passes. The caravan master kept pointing out the next ridge, claiming it to be the last. It never was. Steeper, higher, more deadly they came. Almost half of the convicts lost their lives in the crossing. Those who lived may well wish the cold had taken them.
Down there is Helkger, where Jarl Asgar will bind the thieves and murderers to task. This cannot be good.