<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">â€œIf I were able to go and see you when needed, I would never ask you to come visit. These old bones of mine make traveling tough. My days of being a soldier passed long ago. Someday you will appreciate the mere happiness of conversation, for my journey is coming to an end. Yours, however, is only beginning dear Xesyl.â€</span></span><br/><br/>The words of Amaclus filled his mind in the early morning. The councilman had served as a mentor in the final months of his life. The few strands of gray hair that clung to his dome had seemed to serve as a crown of wisdom, and Xesyl had tried to best to absorb the man's knowledge. He was a vagabond now. Before his exile, he was the champion of his kingdom. A new destination had not been set, and the unanswered questions ate at his soul with every day that passed. Having escaped with enough gold pieces, most would have naturally crossed the seas into foreign lands for an early retirement, letting the peaceful days pass in a cottage.<br/>Thoughts such as these bothered the warrior. War and Xesyl were made for each other. Having been formed into a soldier through out his childhood and early adult life, it was the only thing he knew. Once granted the position as champion, he had become a killer of men. Countless duals had taken place in the courtyard over the years in an old fashioned way of resolving civil disputes. It was there that his talents as a deadly swordsman were recognized.<br/><br/>The early winter winds whispered in the open terrain. He lifted the collar of his grey fur coat to battle against the chills along his neck. His hair was shorted and cropped now, having cut the long chocolate locks that once rested upon his broad shoulders. It was a small attempt to mask his appearance as he drifted further from his home. The one feature he could never hide, though, would be the tattoo's on his forearm that marked him as a warrior of Dara.<br/><br/>A sigh escaped his dry lips as he crouched down, swinging the sword-belt around his waist before standing back to his full heigh to buckle it. The warrior carried two short swords, and made little effort to show that he wasn't armed. The fire he had built upon awakening was beginning to die, the last of the logs being burned to provide minimal warmth. Xesyl was unsure whether he was still being followed, but showed little attempt to hide his stay. It was almost like an open invite into his camp. The former champion knew his kingdom well enough to know they wouldn't just let him get away that easy. They would send a small party after him, but how far would they be willing to go to bring him down?<br/><br/>Another cold wind blew into the cave. As he looked outside he could see the rainfall beginning to die down. He couldn't stay much longer, but it was assuring to know the followers had most likely taken shelter, too. Taking several steps foward he drew himself to the caves edge, watching the water slide down the cliffs edge. The warrior eased himself from the mouth of the cave, step by step, and digging his wool boots into the muddly floor to maintain his balance.<br/><br/>Alone and friendless, Xesyl would need to travel another twenty miles to the nearest city, Verlain. Based on the map he had recently aquired, it would only be another day or two of travel. The flat terrain made for easy traveling, but easier for tracking too. The biggest threat at the moment seemed to be the weather, with winter just around the corner. Rumors had spread that the Dukes of Verlain were recruiting mercenaries and other fighting souls. A large war had begun overseas in a land unknown to Xesyl. Even the importance of the war was unknown, but it was a risk he was willing to take.<br/><br/>Taking a short step forward he paused, lifting his hand from his side, and letting his almost numb fingers wrap around the locket around his neck. Xesyl whispered a short prayer in Daran toungue before continuing his journey.