It wasn't simply cold. The wind was angry, and it had a knife. It did everything in its power to make sure any exposed bit of flesh was promptly stabbed to the bone.

A brown haired, soft looking youth tempered hard by the surrounding elements peered as far as he could into the white desert. Markov rode on the back of a sleigh stuffed with scouting materials pulled by four deeryaks. The funny looking beasts of burden, each with their own unique hairstyle, breathed heavily from their long trek through the Northern tundra. Each hot breath was whisked away into the icy mid afternoon sky.

The driver next to Markov reigned back on the leash and woahed the animals to a stop. The other members of the scouting party were not far behind. After receiving a hand signal from the driver, Markov excitedly pulled out a waxed cylindrical package, pulled a cord at the bottom, and watched with excitement as a beacon flare rocketed high into the air. Its arc cast a yellow glow that reflected off all the surrounding blue-white arctic ice turning the world yellow for an entire minute.

The party of six had made their way back within sight of the ice melter ships off the frozen coast. Long tongues of flame licked out from metal-plated mouth-shaped bows below the bowsprit on each of the four ships freeing them from their frozen slumber. Such adaptations were necessary at the northernmost port of Cambria: Port Aguta. Less than lovingly referred commonly to as the "Witch's Tit” based on the impression the landmass made when looking at it on a map. Aguta was normally the last place anyone in their right sense would want to be, but Markov was having a grand time since his departure from the Azul Palace over a year ago.

Anywhere was better than there.

The sun continued its small arc at the horizon and began casting an orange hue onto the white snow as the party set up a small camp to have a meal before loading their cargo onto the fire ships approaching from the distance.

The party leader, Akiak, a beardless native of this part of the world, surveyed the surrounding snow before digging a hole in a particular spot. It wasn't long before he unearthed the most pungent odor that had ever graced Markov's nose.

Akiak looked back at Markov who was watching him intently and gave the lad a toothy smile. "A delicacy, far-lander. Meat waiting just for us!" he cackled.

Markov happily extended a hand to take some of the delicacy. His eyes watered as he brought the fermenting meat to his mouth. His chewing paused almost immediately upon his first bite. He looked at Akiak his eyes wide with betrayal.

"It's good for you!" Akiak happily replied slicing off a piece for himself before handing the fermented meat off to his other more than hesitant party members, none of whom were natives to the continent. Working for the Guild had its perks, but working at the top of the world eating rotten meat wasn't a common wish.

Markov accepted this bit of wisdom and continued eating. "A delicacy indeed. Thank you, friend." The other members of the party, all accustomed to similar climates back in the Ring, began laughing with one another as they took part in the meal.

Markov's mind reflected on the success of his first assignment on the continent of Cambria. The resupply mission to a local fort only whetted his appetite for more adventure. The Guildmaster in the Ring who approved of Markov's assignment to Aguta scoffed at him and remarked, "You'll be running back home within a fortnight of stepping on the ice." Much to Markov's own surprise, he had adapted to the climate quickly giving him a poignant reminder of his homeland. He had even made good friends with many of the other assigned Guild employees and was ever more excited to continue more missions.

Apprenticed as a cartographer by Guildmaster Akiak, Markov was eager to draft as much as his frozen fingers would allow for the Guild records located in Lizan Al'Ghul. Maybe he could even make a name for himself amongst the other modern-day legends finding fame or fortune within the continent, he thought as he scribbled some notes away.

Markov continued to daydream as the other members of the party discussed the day's work ahead. As they finished their meal, they began to unmoor the small boats that would take them back to the main transport frigates near the horizon beyond the dangerous shallow water and crumbling ice shelf. Their goal now was to complete the trade of goods gathered by the local fort deeper within the continent. Snowbear pelts, spikewolf teeth, jellied rock whale fat and more all to go to the crown of Drador who financed the Guild to embark on this mission.

There was something more beyond the simple shipment of dead animal products to the Ring of Nations. Markov looked uncomfortably back towards the ice they had just navigated out of. In the distance, he could see the black silhouette against the backdrop of falling white snow of an incoming blizzard. He shuddered at the other part of his mission. "Arctodus gigantus," he whispered to himself.

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Four saddled mammoths wailed as they pulled with all their might against their straps. Each mammoth was guided by emissaries directly by the Kingdom of Drador much to the chagrin of the Guildmasters who begrudgingly approved of this mission due to the amount of bullion involved. The beasts pulled in unison at the ropes connected to the hulking black mass behind them on top of an immense wooden skiff that took the entire team a week to build upon their initial landing. On the skiff itself, taught chains restricted the muscles of the sedated beast. Despite the din of the cracking whips, howling winds, and mammoths, each breath of the immense, long-limbed bear could be heard. Every single one of the trapping party and mammoths would be dead right now if it wasn't for the concentrated Zarland sedatives circulating in the monster's blood.

Three trappers and two mammoths of the original party perished in the initial ambush to sedate the creature. Despite the mission being timed when the bear would be at its weakest coming out of the lull of hibernation, the dread bear was in a class of ferocious monsters few others occupied. In the summer months, dread bears (all ten of them) were class 2 monsters with party mortality approaching 70% in the worst circumstances.

Trapping plans always made allotments for the worst of circumstances.

"She's a mother!" yelled one of the party members near Markov as he revealed a bottle of clear liquor wrapped in several animal pelts, "we'll catch a hefty bonus for her and the cubs."

The men cheered together and drank shots to their success. The mother dread-bear would be sold to the royal family of Rostya, an ally of Drador. The mother would likely be slaughtered and processed for her dead weight goods while her children would be raised as war animals in her intended stead.

——

Although Cambria was only rediscovered a century ago, old ports and forts were constantly being rediscovered and resupplied to ensure profitable trade grew. Their upkeep was financed by trade with the Ring mainly in material goods native to the continent, but the real excess profits came from the trade in local fauna. The great houses of various continents the world around engaged in this expedient trade seeking a means to wage war amongst their neighbors. This was the nature of the Monster Trade managed by The Guild Company.

The only other trade that could compete, or often surpass, in gross profit amongst the Great Houses of the Ring was the mask trade. Naive nobles were hellbent on getting their hands upon the coveted technology that gave humans native to Cambria the abilities necessary to survive within the interior unaided, but the price of this newfound power was exorbitant. Few could manage that cost, except the most desperate in an effort to retain or take their respective crowns.

Besides that, of the few masks that made their journey out of Cambria to the houses of royal lords, their powers were often greatly truncated. As was typical, a foolish scion motivated by simple martial power and the lure of status along with conquest would become corrupted early by the mask reducing him to an afflicted state simply called possession.

Symptoms of possession were never precisely the same, but they were all united in their inevitable result: a nascent fear of fire that would grow to fever pitch. The ultimate conclusion had one of two end results: becoming a monster or an ascetic. Everyone who used the power of the masks eventually paid their debt, some sooner, some later.

Amidst the burgeoning trade of monsters and masks from Cambria, the next greatest commodity was maps of the interior. Little was known and new discoveries by various contracted parties were being made every day.

Most ideas of what resided within the continent fell into local legend exchanged amongst pilgrims, penal colonists, and the few native inhabitants who made themselves known. Native tribes living near the coast of the continent were rare, but further towards the interior humanoid life virtually disappeared. No one knew what resided within the interior. The few who could travel so far were mask users, many of whom never came back. Some spoke of the Mirror Serpent herself still residing within still giving birth to the monsters of the continent. Ultimately, no one knew, and that was the only piece of motivation Markov needed to inspire him to make the journey despite his assignment to the frozen North. He wanted to learn more.

Markov smiled at his friends in his hunting party and wondered how Jackul was fairing far to the south. "He should be in Lizan Al'Ghul by now," Markov thought as he chewed. He smiled to himself. More than two years ago after the succession crisis at the Azul Palace, they bid each other farewell with the promise they would share all the secrets one another had found in their respective corners of the continent. While Markov as deployed early to Aguta due to a shortage of hands, Jackul had to wait an interminably long year and a half before being allowed to leave their home country of Verdanta.

——

As Markov's thoughts drifted in time and space, his memories drifted into the past.

"Don't you dare forget!" yelled Jackul as he hugged his friend trying his best to hide the sadness slowly enveloping his face and the jealousy deep within his heart. "I won't be far behind you! Remember everything!"

Markov gave a wry smile back. A knot in his stomach from the emotion at his parting from his adopted family overshadowed his anticipation of adventure. He answered, "I'll map the whole North of Cambria and I'll try my best not to get killed." A great understanding linked the two only possible through the shared trauma of their past.

"Leave some for me and you better wait for me before you find any ruins in the interior," Jackul clapped back eyes moist but happy.

After a short embrace, Markov boarded his ice ship and set sail for the northern port of Aguta where the freezing winds prevented most whale ships from ever venturing.