A wintry powder settled on the northern lands of Ruyn. Autumn had brought with it colder than normal weather and now snow was beginning to fall. Several birds who had been late to fly south now began their journey to warmer climates. The plains that surrounded the northern city of Beaton were quiet and still.
The only figures that could be seen for miles were a man and woman, both heading in the same direction.
Towards Beaton at a break neck speed.
A brown haired man, with a sword that had no point carried a traveling pack on his shoulders. It was not as full as it had been when he traveled from Thoran to The Glorious City. He had only packed the essentials when he set off to track an enemy through the cold and frozen Northern Wastes.
For the most part, he was a moderately good looking man who might have been in his early twenties. Though how old he really was, he didn't know.
There were many things about himself he didn't remember. All he knew was that several months ago he had washed up on the shores of an island called Good Harbor with a few possessions and fewer memories. That hadn't stopped him from getting swept up into a conflict that was beginning to consume the entire continent.
He was on a mission with several others to request aid for the country of Thoran from the northern countries: Beaton, Yule, Shiv, and Grandun-Krator. Of the people who had come on the original journey, however, he alone had wandered off by himself to track Verde, a general for the Southern Republic.
It was the Southern Republic and the mercenary army called The Mercs that had began this war. They claimed that a catastrophic apocalypse was on its way and that the only way to prevent the doom foreseen was to rid the land of every race that was not human.
Many battles had been hard fought based on those mad claims made by one man, Androlion Fellgate. He was an expert tactician, a mastermind of the battlefield, and a crazed lunatic who desired power above all else.
At least, that's what Ealrin thought of him.
And it was Ealrin's thought, as well, that if the man who could turn a nation on its head and drive it to madness could be dealt with, then the whole conflict would come to a halt and sanity could be restored.
Thus explained his traveling companion.
The woman who ran beside him had several swords and daggers on her back and several more hidden in her clothes. A single braid of strikingly white hair ran down her back. If the wolf head cloak she wore had fallen away, men would clamor to call her beautiful and beg for a moment of her time.
And as the stories go, she'd give it them in the form of a knife to the throat.
Silverwolf, the only name she ever gave to those who asked, was a deadly assassin. Ealrin had met her just after she had killed her most recent bounty.
He had asked for her help then.
She had yet to promise it.
But they both traveled to Beaton. She was to claim her coins and entertain the idea of retirement. He was to meet up with his friends who had hopefully swayed the governor of Beaton and the Red Guard, Beaton's military and police force, to help Thoran.
Both plans might be in jeopardy.
Before them on the horizon, the city of Beaton was alight with flames.
They both ran as quickly as they could.
Forgetting, for a moment, how strange it was that he was now partnered with a professional assassin, Ealrin was worried about the fate of his friends.
