A chilling wind whips through the hollow. Winter's bite grips your spine. The very air you breath stings. Snow swirls all around you, yet, the trees... the trees are motionless in the gale, unaffected by the cold, biting winds.
You realize a group of men is going right to you. The man in front has a hard determined look on his face, the two men behind follow him with some uneasiness. He stops before you, holding the handle of his sword in one hand, and slaps (choose person carefully) with leather gloves he carries in the other hand. "Rhadagald Thinvoice, I challenge You to a duel to dea..." Stopping abruptly, he realizes this is the wrong person.