The pre-dawn air was crisp and biting as Kellan stood at the edge of Frosthaven, surveying the village below. Frost coated the roofs of the houses, and a thin layer of frost crunched underfoot as he paced, his breath forming white puffs in the frigid morning air. The dragon egg, cradled in a reinforced leather pouch, hung at Kellan's side. Behind him, a small contingent of his newly acquired allies from the village awaited his command, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and resentment.
Rurik, a hunter from the village, stood beside Kellan, his expression unreadable as he watched the villagers gather reluctantly in the village square below. The men, weary and apprehensive, had been roused from their beds and homes by Kellan's demands. They stood in a ragged line, their breath visible in the chill as they exchanged anxious glances and muttered amongst themselves.
