<span style="color: #FF0000">Fenharel woke as the pale morning sun hit his eyelids. It was cold, piercingly so, despite only being in the foothills. The entire terrain was foreign to him; there were plenty of trees, but the crags, peaks and hills rising around him were completely unfamiliar. Quickly building himself a fire, he brewed an herbal tea and munched on an apple and some strips of dried meat. He decided he'd stop for a bit at the next large settlement he encountered to stock up on food and explore both the land and the culture a little more in depth. Thoughts of writing a book on the native herbs of each kingdom swam around in his head.<br/><br/>Fenharel poured his tea from the pot and into a metallic flask his father had given him, spiking it with some of his own homemade juniper spirit, then threw all his belongings and into his saddlebags and ploughed onwards through the cold. There were plenty of hours left in the morning, and he hoped to reach a good settlement by noon at the latest.<br/><br/>The warmth of his tea decoction flitted through his throat and insides, keeping his body's temperature well-regulated until he finally came upon a village at the foot of a castle. He stared at the castle for a few seconds, a bit agape at the stone and steel architecture. Then he shifted his focus onto the village, where people all around were working and going about their day in productive, if a bit gruff, motion.<br/><br/>The cold mountain air was still apart from the occasional breeze, and there wasn't the loud chatter of animals and insects that there was in the forest. It was an almost peaceful place, jarred every so often only by the sound of chopping wood, or a bark of orders from a man to his apprentice.<br/><br/>His eyes finally rested upon what seemed to be a blacksmith's shop, which piqued his interest. He had broken one of his knives after stabbing someone's hand against a rock, and while it had felt good to catch the runaway murderer that had been plaguing the last village he visited, he couldn't help but feel a bit of regret for the ruined knife. Perhaps here he'd find a suitable alternative. He walked towards the door silently, his footsteps padded by the soft ground, but he stopped when he heard voices inside.<br/><br/>Sneaking around to the corner of the smithy, Fenharel peered in through a sooty window and strained his ears to make out the words. It was a young woman talking to the smith, and he couldn't help but feel that he had seen her before. He could only just make them out talking about a disturbance to the power source when another, bigger man walked in, asking for his axe to be sharpened. Fenharel was intrigued, but he didn't want to blow his cover, so he walked back around to the front door and strode in just as the burly man confronted the woman about staring.<br/><br/>He ignored them both at first, watching only out of the corner of his eye in case things escalated. Walking straight towards the blacksmith, he took out his broken knife and tossed it at his table.<br/><br/>"See the balance on that thing? Lightweight, so it can be thrown, but sturdy and durable for combat situations as well. Got anything around here like that? Or maybe you can make something for me?" he asked, keeping his voice casual and friendly.</span>