Bear Blood. That's a new one.

Somewhere down the line, in another year or two, when Blackwall has time and space to distance himself from this, he's going to come back to it and find it fucking hilarious. Right now, he's more pissed than anything. Would it have killed them to have asked him first before throwing their Maker-cursed blood on him? He's got enough damn blood on him as it is; he could stand a little time without blood.

"Maker's breath," he swears, glaring at the nearest person. "Fine. Keep your damn bears. And you better pray they don't decide to come down here and slaughter all of you."

Sometimes he really does a good job trying to be a better person and work towards... well something redemption-like.

Today? Today is so not that day.

So today back at the Hinterlands, there is a very well-armored warrior with a sword and shield running through the snow. He might have gotten lost. There was a camp back there, somewhere. Once there was. He could swear there was.

"Maker's balls!" he yells as he runs. Come on, Maker. Give a man a break, would ya?

Seriously, camp or someone who can help him deal with this would be great because there is a bear chasing him. A little help would be great. Don't make him run through the snow any further.

Camp is in the other direction.