Jared Hill, Confederate States Army, has just emerged from a wizards tower into a very cold land. Jared Hill has absolutely no idea where or when he is. To him, it is the year 1865, and he should be in Virginia, defending the capitol against inevitable Yankee assault. Jared Hill immediately turned around and reentered the tower.

Muttering to himself in shock, he began to take stock of his surroundings. He was in a tower, check. He had no idea where the tower was, check. The tower demonstrably was not in Virginia, 1865, therefore he was not in Virginia, or very likely, 1865, check. If he was not in Virginia, and it was not 1865, he must be somewhere else, and somewhen else for that matter. Is somewhen even a word? "Damnall, Focuhs. It don't matter, jest gotta figure where I am, and when it is, and what's goin on and....aww shit." The crackling sound he had taken for stone settling in the cold revealed itself. It was massive, a skeleton(maybe) nearly seven feet tall. It towered over the shocked soldier, and he was sure, he didn't know how he was sure, but he was sure it wanted him dead. The Bowie was in his hand in a flash. Whatever this beast was, it was going to be breakable, and the heavy blade of his knife would be the weapon of choice. He would have snatched up his rifle, but he had set it down in the doorway. Its clubbed butt would be a wonderful choice, but it was just too far.

The thing lashed out with its skeletal hand, and he thought he'd just take the hit, and snap its arm off with his knife when it rebounded off his chest. It didn't quite work that way. The arm hit him, he went flying, and by sheer luck managed to break a couple of fingers off. On the other hand, his luck kept getting better. He landed within arms reach of his rifle, and he snatched it up immediately, letting the knife drop without a second thought. He came up from the ground with a wince, but he came up swinging, and he caught the creature in the ribcage as it was coming at him, shattering yet more of its bones, which it turned out were actually ice. The fingers he had removed had already turned into water again, and the cracks in its skeleton had spiderwebbed like glass. Bone didn't break like that. He'd seen enough men hit by cannon to know that it splintered and shattered when struck. He swung again, and the ribs broke off. The best let out a keening wail that rattled the windows of this lowest room of the three story tower, and shook Jared to his bones. He didn't give up though. He came on after the beast, letting loose his own battlecry, the terrible yipping howl of the rebel yell filled the room, and the beast faltered. It wasn't intelligent, but it knew what its creator had commanded. Defend the keep, do not disturb anyone leaving, but slay any who entered without the proper password. Its creator had not had any details on what to do when it was damaged and facing destruction. That slight shudder in its movement was all the opening Jared needed. He wasn't very tall, but he jumped slightly as he charged, and swung the rifle butt with incredible force. The impact shook his arms, and the rifle dropped from his numb fingers, as cracks spread across the surface of the crystaline skull, and chunks began to fall to the ground. His rifle butt had taken some damage in the fight, but it could be repaired with a little bit of time and some tools. The deep crack in its solid oak butt testified to the toughness of the beasts head. The beasts head no longer being attached to itys body testified to the toughness of solid oak. Hardwood one, ice thing zero.

Jared stood there shaking his numbed hands, trying to restore feeling after the wicked vibration that had shuddered all the way up his arms and into his shoulders. He winced again, the impact on the wall had bruised him pretty badly, all down his back, and he might have broken something. He took a deep breath, testing his ribs to make sure they were intact. It hurt, but it wasn't the stabbing pain of a broken rib, it hurt in his back as he stretched it with his breathing. "I been all ovah hell and creashun, and nevah seen nuthin lahk that. What in sam hill..." He was nearly in shock trying to proccess what had happened. Nothing like that happened outside of childrens stories, or the Good Book. And he didn't remember anything like that at all outside of The Revalation. Jared wasn't proud of many things in his life. He was a small farmer, he didn't have no slaves, no wife, no real family, nothin much to speak of, but he could read. He knew he could speak this language, whatever it was, it wasn't English. Maybe he could read it. He'd seen a library on his way out. He needed to know what he was getting in to here.

He traveled back up the tairs, finally noticing the peculiar warmth of the building. He changed his priorities almost immediately. This was a stone building, if it was warm in here, and he had seen no fireplaces, this place must have some central method of heating. He went back to the third floor of this squat tower, and examined the body of the dead mage, confirming his suspicions. The man had no winter clothing. A further check of the floor revealed many things. Tomes with words in languages that Jared couldn't speak or read by some magic, staves, concoctions labeled in a language he could read. Some said they were for the healing of injuries,one said it created fire, another aided in the sight of things...magical. "Aww shit." He seemed to be saying that alot recently. He went back to the dead body, noting his location in the upper floor(it wasn't very hard, it was some three, maybe four rooms off a central landing), and searched it for anything strange, a wand was the first thing that came to mind, he knew it was asinine. Magic didn't work, he knew it in his bones. Then he found the wand. It was a simple stick with a handle, he thought. It didn't seem to have any effect when he waved it, but maybe he couldn't use it. He riffled through the body again, pulling off all of his rings, jewelry, and similar accoutrements. The man had worn a prodigous amount of things that were obviously valuable(to a man of the 19th century at east), his rings and amulets were more than worth the trouble of removing them.

As he was stripping the body, things began to sink in, especially when he found the journal. He flipped through it, noting dates and location names. He was apparently in a land called Salvar, in the keep of a "loyalist mage" by the name of Kerowyn. Apparently he had fallen out of one losing war, into another. Jared wsn't a stupid man. The entire time he had been searching the tower, he had been thinking. The man who owned the tower was dead. Jared had as good a claim as any other. It was well stocked with more than enough food to keep him through the winter, and it was warm. His decision was made. This tower was his now. Barring any other occurence, he was the man that owned the property now.

It was a squat thing, only three stories high, solid stone and mortar construction, with a crenellated roof. He could see a small town off in the distance from the rooftop, but otherwise the landscape was bare. A few trees dotted the area, mostly sturdy pines and a few leafless oaks, or something that looked like an oak at least. It was obviously winter. The tower's insides were almost as unassuming as its outside. A sleeping chamber, a small selection of the same light garments the mage had worn when alive, a bath chamber, and the workshop dominated the top floor. The second floor had a solid book lined room with runes graven on the floor, Jared had no idea what they meant, but he intended to remove the floor and have it replaced to get them out of his new home. The other two rooms seemed to be very similar. One had a small work bench and some tools one might use for carving wood. Perhaps the mage had carved those staves he saw upstairs. The other had another small work bench, and jewelers tools, leading Jared to believe that the mage had crafted all of his own pieces of jewelry. The first floor was the next most useful to him, having a kitchen and dining area, the main entry way, and what looked like a cellar access. In the cellar he found food in plenty, as well as wine(which was a write off, he had no traste for fancy liquors), and a well. "Naow I wish I coulda learnt t'make whiskey. The man heah has no taste in likker."

Jared set about makinghimself at home, and cleaning up the mess he had made. Most men woud have gotten out as soon as possiblem, having just murdered the former owner, but he was dammed if he was going to abandon this place so easily, especially after being stolen from his home and his army.