Cynthia

Starter #1 - Thick, heavy snow boots trod in the white slush of snow.

The morning was rough. The first thing Cynthia did was check the rain catcher for any possible rain water, and the bowl had a small amount of water inside. The maple tree was struggling to grow in the garden, but Cynthia knew she wasn't meant to plant anything yet. She hoped too hard for the tree. A single layer of snow decorated the soil beneath the tree, and the weed withered, giving up on its birth. Maple was a good resource to craft a stronger workbench. Cynthia was trying her hardest to make her home more sustainable for potential incoming raids. At least the smelter was lit with a warm fire.

Most of the rivers were poisonous, or at least they were rumoured to be. Nobody really knew other than the dead.

The village appeared to be busy at this early hour.

Cynthia wore a thick long-sleeved dress that extended to her ankles, along with a pair of snow boots. Both were rimmed with greyish-black fur, and crafted purely out of wolf skin. Her sword and shield remained indoors. Her skin was pale, and her hair was a shade of light blonde that extended to her lower back. Her hair was braided.

Moving over to the small farm that resided in front of the house, Cynthia observed the sheep. The farm consisted of exactly four sheep, with an unsustainable wooden fench bordering the property. While carrying the bowl from the rain catcher, Cynthia poured the water into a bowl that was already on the grass. While her father and brother were away on a raid across the water, it was Cynthia's duty to take care of the house and animals.

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Starter #2 - The weather was bitter cold, albeit it didn't call for a blizzard at this hour. The forest ground had patches of snow, not entirely covered in white. A metal pickaxe could be heard clouting against iron ore for half the day, and already, the pickaxe was wearing down and reaching a breaking point. A pile of twenty iron ore sat beside her, stacked on top of each other. A lone woman remained in this forest, gathering ore to take back to her camp. This was the closest forest to her camp, too. This gatherer appeared to be clad in a long ankle-length dress made purely of wolfskin, and the collar was rimmed with greyish-black fur. On her feet were a pair of thick boots, able to endure the harsh snow. Long blonde tresses reached to her waistline, braided and gently being swayed by the gentle breeze. Lips were cracked by the bitter air, cheeks adopted a reddish hue. It was easy to die of thirst or hunger out here, and wolves were common around these parts as well.

"The ore is almost finished. I chopped wood yesterday," she spoke to herself, making a to-do list in her head, "I will gather meat tomorrow."

Time was unknown with no sundial situated nearby, but the winter sun managed to cast her shadow over to the southwest. Maybe that indicated the late afternoon. At least, nobody was around.