Déa described themselves as a cartographer before anything else. It led to confusion whenever new folks, often lost ones, requested help trying to reach wherever they were intending to go. Déa was talented at navigating the snows and forests, but they always had the same set of responses to people being surprised at the beady black eyed person that emerged from the burrows of the storefront labelled "Safe Travels: Cartographic Aids"
"Eh? Why would a mapmaker not explore the world? That ruins the whole point!"
…
Most people who had met them had very briefly made the mistake of calling them a guide, but they were adamant when they were called such things.
The short figure cast their spectacled eyes onto the ground with no little amount of annoyance.
"You… all my work gone to waste now."
Déa had intended to take the well trod path down the valley in order to try to start mapping out a new lake that wasn't on the widely accepted maps of Remnant. This was exciting. A sizeable star-shaped lake is not a natural happenstance. If it was, it was an incredibly unlikely geographical formation. If they managed to properly sound it?
It was a wonderful thing to discover new places.
A wonderful thing it was not was to discover that the path down into the wider Frosted Plains was rendered unsafe. The entire trail had been over snowed, and this meant Déa would be unable-
Chh-hhh-hhh-hhhhhhhhhhhhhk.
That was a sizeable amount of snow. The weather most likely caused removal of some of the hillside. Déa sighed, and reached for the map in their coat.
They felt the old, warped surface, and rested on a small indent.
"Frosted Plains Trail." They spoke softly.
tkk tkk tkk tkk. "N. Needs."
tkk tkk tkk. "E. Editation"
They tilted their face up from the map, and returned their hand to their walking stick. The spectacles glistened, two circles of white floating above the large expanse of snow.
"Hello? Is there anybody out there?"
Déa calmed themselves, and began to wait with an emotionless stare.
Off in the distance was a region of black. "Ash Forest." Déa whispered.
They calmly turned their face down towards the end of the trail. Where it would have been, at least. The Plains were a good few minutes walk to go across, for a traveler could walk unimpeded by anything in the way of trees or spring bracken or gorse that hadn't yet realised it lived in the snowiest place on the planet.
The plains should not have a medium sized black… thing lying at the bottom of the path.
Déa was remaining emotionless to not attract the creature to their presence.
The cartographer stepped back, calmly returning to their village.
…
"There is… a creature."
The various creatures in The Mistletoe Horn glanced up in varied degrees of silent disbelief at hearing a sharp wooden tapping approaching the establishment. If you had went through and spoke to everyone there on that day, you'd never get one of them to admit that they knew who it was at the door.
The stout door was pushed open by a heavily enrobed wad of clothes, with shining spectacles peeking out towards the room's inhabitants.
"I believe nobody has heard my voice. There is a creature at the bottom of the Frosted Plains trail."
The crowd was silent.
You could have dropped the offer of three free rounds in that moment and nobody would have said a word.
…
One man chose to ignore the consistency of the reactions and looked up from his drink, pulling up a bandage from their face.
"What did it look like? Beowolf?"
The glasses turned to one of the men at the bar.
Every person at a chair, be it barstool or table chair, quickly looked between both people.
Seating was pushed aside in a rapid succession, causing a straight path between the door to the man at the bar, a path that the bundled figure took with swift strides through to reach their destination.
"I believe that a repeat guest, Mr Branwen, would not be so foolish as to insult me."
The man finished his drink and called out to the bartender.
"Water, please? Hot." He called out while sliding over a flask.
Déa faced the man while he waited for the flask to be filled with boiling water. The judgement was clear and obvious, despite the fogged lenses of the figure that was currently more clothes than man.
The drinker, Branwen, if the half dead mutter of a man in a forest was any real proof of name, turned to watch the glass as it looked up at him. He looked down at his hands, gave a brisk laugh and repeated his words.
"What did it look like? Beowolf?"
"This is the third t-"
….
A rasping skip came across the wood, accented by a small slosh. Déa presumed this was the water. A leather like impact came as it hit the hand of the man at the bar. "Show off."
He spun on his seat and tilted his head at an uncomfortable angle. "Ha! Not your problem, is it?" he crowed.
Branwen set his green eyes onto the cartographer.
Pah. Cowardly man for a cowardly job.
"Fine, Dio. What did the creature sound like?"
Dio hmphed quietly. "It made no sounds. I was requesting to get someone practical to help me investigate, not a tiresome drunkard."
… Rude little rat.
The walking stick tapped the wooden floor twice with a piercing rap. "Would anyone assist me in investigating this creature? I need a person skilled in combat-" ahem? You bastard. I'm damn competent. "-in case of a serious escalation."
The bar remained quiet. It was cold, bitingly cold, and most people wouldn't go out in this weather. Dio's request on an otherwise peaceful day was definitely stretching it for most of them.
Branwen gave a low smile. He knew exactly what was going to happen now.
"I'll go."
The heavily covered form quivered. "Anyone besides this Branwen?"
…
One of the older ones held up a hand.
"I'll stand on the watch-post for you two."
….
Déa nodded in thanks.
"Is the previous path uncovered?"
Various people called out in agreement. Déa sighed and started to leave the warm bar. The previous chattering began at a louder pitch, everyone at their seats joining into their conversations.
The cartographer waved their muffled limb in passing. "Safe fire and stable victual to you all."
…
The door closed and a few quiet taps came from outside.
Branwen stood while emerald green eyes flitted across the room.
…
"What? Stop staring like that. I'm fucking going, you cowards."
He grasped his flask and pointed his finger at each person who watched him walk out.
Before he was at the door, he wheeled around.
"You. Grey."
The older woman he was pointing at looked up at him while she had been slowly putting on her outdoor clothes.
She glared at him. "Shut your yap and help the little man."
Branwen smiled. "That. That's the spirit I like to see! Don't put a weapon in my head, eh?"
"Don't let our friend die today and I'll think about it, eh Branwen?"
Like you could manage it. Brave of you to keep fighting, though.
"Yes Ma'am!"
The two eventually met at the door, and left the bar to a gust of frigid air. There were a few remaining tables, and the bartender calmly spoke to the rest of the people inside. "Last rounds, people."
Before the hubbub could begin, they cut it off with a swift gaze of sober judgment. "Don't yell, you all. just think a bit longer before you ditch a fellow townsman in need to a drunk man that tried fighting every trained person in the town."
The to-be-hubbubbers thought about the situation for a second.
The bartender could have continued, further solidified the point, but didn't need to. They knew exactly what was coming next.
"I'm going out."
….