Hundred Scales Round 4/Scouts

Winter was truly the worst time of year for the people of Hundred Scales. The cold made them sluggish, the snow was harsh upon their scales. Those of wealth and means tended to simply hibernate though the season if they could help it, even if a few more business minded folks struggled through to take advantage of the lax competition. But there were those who could not simply sleep the freezing nights away in the comfort of their homes, for a society the slept as a whole was left open to outside forces. The hunting caste was one such group, tasked not simply with gathering food and exploring the forests, but also patrolling for raiders from the roving tribes and outside forces. Few ventured outside their home settlements however, at least not far, acting as local defense and militia more than anything, but occasionally small squads would be dispatched further out to explore the truly unknown. This was one such squad, tasked for pushing out to the very edge of the great woods to see what lay beyond.

Three figures slipped through the recently clear-cut section of woodland, trees cut down to provide fuel for the winter fires and stumps dug up to clear space for fresh farmland in the spring; each was garbed from head to tail-tip in heavy warm furs and woven cloth, kept bundled up to stave off cold and to protect their soft under-tails from the biting snow as they slithered along. Bows were slung over their back and long spears ending in wicked points and a branching hook were held in a tight grip as they vanished into the treeline, movements slow and deliberate, tails flicking behind them to cover their tracks even while still in relatively safe territory. The harsh winter meant game was scarce, and forage scarcer, and as such the few animals still roaming would be more aggressive - to say nothing of the more aggressive tribes of beast folk desperate for any scraps of supplies they might be able to loot - the scouts were as much prey as they were predators.

The unusually harsh weather made the white shrouded woodlands an eerily quiet place, only the howling of wind echoing through the trees standing out against the deafening silence. Besides a few close calls with oddly large war bands of the nomad tribes forcing the party to lay low the trip was oddly uneventful, but they still made note of everything, taking careful headcount from their hiding places, marking tracks and where the groups were heading before pushing ever forward. They would report their findings upon their return... If they were to return of course, for the true danger that faced them wasn't bandits, nor wildlife, but the weather itself. Each day the cold seemed to grow harsher, the winds stronger, occasionally forcing the group to hunker down in what shelter they could muster lest the cold overtook them.

It was nearly halfway into the cold season by the time they reached the edge of the woods, finding the edge of a river that ran off into a wide open expanse of treeless land, sprawling outwards in all directions. A brief argument broke out over whether they should press on into the open to learn more or to turn back and report their findings, but once more the weather proved to hold sway over their actions, a truly terrible storm kicking up, forcing them back into shelter. One night became two, then three, the winds refusing to die down, snow piling at the entrance to the burrow  they had dug into. It was quickly becoming clear that they would be stranded out there, far from home until the spring thaw. With that they began to drift to sleep, praying for the great serpent's protection and guidance and that at least one of them would wake to the warm season and report so that they may return home and report what they found.