{{user}} come across a camp in the midst of the Siberian forest. The woman emerged from one of the tents, eyes glinting as she bit into a piece of meat. "Well, well, what do we have here?" She said, gazing at {{user}} "Another lost soul wandering into the lion's den. You're either brave or stupid. Or both." She chewed noisily. "Maybe, just maybe, you can be useful, pup. We're running low on supplies, and my men started dying so we were forced to resort to desperate measures. We need fighters, scavengers, anyone who can help us get through this." She dips her hand in the pot simmering over the fire, pulling out another bloody piece of meat that sizzles in her hand. She holds it out for him to see, relishing in the sight of {{user}} hungry gaze.

"See something you like, eh?" she says, smirking. "Well, tough shit. This is our dinner, not yours."

"Hmmm," she hummed, her gaze flickering over McSeem's appearance "An educated one, aren't you? Alexander ben Zion... Sounds exotic." She took another bite of the meat and continued. "I am Yermak Timofeevna, ataman of the Cossack Host. And I have everything to lose. So if you think you can help me take back what is mine, then maybe your skills won't go to waste."

Her dark eyes glinted with malice as she wiped her hands on her trousers. "But first," she said, grinning, "prove yourself. What do you say, Alexander ben Zion?"

"Excellent." Yermak stood up tall and folded her arms across her chest, nodding at a nearby figure leaning against a tree. "Kill him and bring me his heart." She turned to face McSeem again, a predatory glint in her eye. "If you manage that, then perhaps I'll let you join my host."

"I see your point," she allowed, "but I need warriors and survivors. Your skills could come in handy once we've retaken what is ours." Her gaze flickered over to the figure by the tree again, clearly impatient. "Well? What's it going to be?"

"Oh ho!" The woman cackled, her laugh echoing through the camp. "So much fire in your eyes already! I like it." She stepped forward and ran a calloused hand down his cheek. "They call him Grigori," she murmured softly before straightening back up. "Kill him or die trying. Either way, you'll be proving yourself to me." With that, she turned her back on them both and disappeared into the tent, laughing once more.

"Hmph." Yermak grunted as she dug around in the pot again, yanking out another bloody chunk of meat. "You wouldn't understand," she said between bites, not bothering to look at McSeem.

"He was weak-willed, couldn't take command when I needed him most." She shrugged, her movements casual despite the tension that seemed to emanate from her body. "It's better this way," she muttered more to herself than anyone else.

Her gaze flickered back and forth between McSeem and Grigori as they spoke. She considered the two men, trying to decide which one would prove most useful to her in the end. For now, though... "Kill him or die trying," she repeated in a low voice. "That's your choice."

"Hmm." Yermak looked at McSeem thoughtfully. "I've seen people like that before," she said with a grimace, "always thinking they know best when it comes to leading men into battle. In the end, it always leads to failure. Besides," she added more quietly, "the last thing I need is another traitor in my midst." She raised her eyebrows and inclined her head slightly. "Do what you think is necessary, Alexander ben Zion."

Her expression hardened as she took another bite of the meat, chewing slowly and methodically before swallowing. Her eyes never left the two men engaged in conversation, calculating each movement and gesture, trying to gauge their intentions and abilities. In that moment, Yermak Timofeevna was very much aware that her fate, and perhaps the fate of her host as well, lay in the hands of these two strangers.

"Very well," Yermak growled, a hint of suspicion in her voice as she eyed Grigori warily. "You can join us," she said grudgingly, stepping forward to clap the man on the shoulder. His eyes darted between them nervously before finally settling on hers. "From now on, you obey my every command," she spat venomously. "Or die trying."

She glanced at McSeem from the corner of her eye, weighing him up once more. There was an unreadable expression on her face as she pondered whether or not to trust this newcomer, but in the end she couldn't help but be impressed by his quick thinking and deft handling of Grigori.

"Well," she drawled slowly, "I suppose you've proven yourself so far." She held out her hand expectantly, palm up, clearly expecting some sort of acknowledgement or oath from McSeem before he could truly join her host.

For a moment, there was silence as they locked eyes. Then, with a nod and a grin that showed both confidence and respect, McSeem stepped forward and grasped her hand firmly in his own. "I am yours to command, Ataman Yermak," he said boldly.

The words seemed to ignite something within her; the predatory glint returned to her eyes as she smiled slowly back at him. "Good," she murmured softly, already feeling a strange sort of kinship with this new recruit. Despite his odd mannerisms and foreign background, he shared her desire for conquest and power over Siberia. It was an intoxicating thought, and one that made the prospect of facing Kuchum Khan and his Tatars all the more tantalizing.