The sky darkened as the land became a blanket of gray, growing ever deeper under the relentless hail of snow from the heavens. A howl, long, low, and mournful, was carried along the leaden raging winds, piercing the soul of the weary traveler, huddled tightly before a dying fire.

“Wolves.”

“Timber?”

“No.”

A grim but expectant silence followed.

“Biron,” they supplied,

“The massive ones?”

“Indeed.”

“The ones that my father told stories of?”

“The very same.”

Arrion nodded in satisfaction, absently fingering the woodwork of his musket. He felt the interruptions of metal beneath his sore fingers, red from the bite of cold, with a hint of purple creeping from the fingertips. The blizzard intensified, forcing him to draw his rather inadequate cloak tighter about himself. He had considered using gunpowder to fuel a bigger fire to abate the brutal temperatures, but ultimately decided against it - he’d need that powder should any danger emerge from the icy wasteland. However, do not misunderstand their surroundings, for they knew they had chosen a dreadful time to navigate these lands. In the summer the hills were bathed in a sweltering heat, which the conifers reveled in as they swayed in the light winds. But the regions west of the Iremark had harsh winters, frost that turned the sprightly mountainous landscape into a freezing hell unfit for conclaver presence, in which the wolves, the creatures of ice, and foul things stirred.

“We must move. This fire has no chance, and we will freeze if we remain unmoving for much longer,” they warned, to which Arrion nodded and shoved his musket down his back straps. He smothered the desperate fire, packed his belongings, and set off through the wall of snow. Hours of struggling through the snow, as high as his waist and packed tight. Arrion tried to ease his exhaustion by admiring how truly surreal the scenery was around them. It was a strange sight: a gray haze lay over everything, with the giant silhouettes of coniferous trees looming in the gloom like giants of the North. The few trees that they could fully see were nearly unrecognizable with the amount of snow draped on them; jagged icicles waved in the strong winds, threatening to impale any unfortunate soul beneath them should they relinquish their grasp. Arrion was a young hixen of twenty, restless, with cobalt eyes, almost black titian hair, and a wiry build uncommon among Exonites. He could not clearly remember what had happened the past week or so, as he had spent it mostly unconscious and in a dazed state when awake. One event he could remember was escaping a filthy slaver’s den on a mountain top, the rotting smell of long dead men in its cave. During the prior week, he had inhaled a light toxin given off by a boulder-sized slug he was ambushed by in the foothills and had not responded well to it. Recalling memories further past, Arrion returned to his own days of early adolescence often when he had nothing to think about, scoffing at them more often than not. He was a boy with big dreams in a breaking world, six hundred miles away hunting game with his father for a living. The young man had realized how short his time was, and how big this world was, too big to sit around as a peasant, no! He set out for glory, imagining his name engraved in the Exonite halls of great explorers! However, he had minimal experience outside the bulwark that was civilization, that was Exyniom. This lack of understanding had been the cause of many mistakes they made, many of which cost lives, lives of men, women, even children, but that is irrelevant to them.

After an uncountable amount of time, Arrion was able to make out unnaturally straight outlines through the haze.

“Salvation,” he said. When no objection came, he pushed forward, toward the strangely welcoming silhouettes. The sky grew a queer shade of brown as dawn neared, and in good time, for Arrion could now observe dark brown roofs and feel the warmth and conversation emanating from the village as he passed the chipped wooden sign that read Feyld. Soon, he was upon a tall wooden gate that marked the entrance to the hamlet, its snow encrusted beams wrapped in a soft black cloth that smelled like lime. The two men attending the gate wordlessly stepped aside as Arrion slowly made his way past them, exchanging subtle looks of disbelief. Evidently, their home had not received visitors for a very long time. The streets of the village were coated in packed snow about two feet deep, in which walking was a strenuous ordeal. Low wooden houses with stone corner posts were seemingly strewn carelessly around, resulting in a meandering web of snow-choked pathways. As Arrion struggled to find his way through the empty roads, the lack of living presence made his heart pound a touch faster,

“This town too?”

Exhaling in relief, he saw light, fire, and voices down the street. The incandescence radiated from a two story tiled building down the pale street, to which Arrion began shuffling his way toward. Eventually Arrion stood in front of two rather old looking wooden doors, both of which had brass handles which stood out sharply from the ebony visage, the places which had been grasped by numerous hands smudged and faded. He drew in breath sharply as he felt them return to the front of his consciousness.

“Well, are you going to enter, or shall we all freeze out here?”

“Haven’t seen people for a long time, forgive me,”

He grabbed the thick handles and pulled. Almost instantly, he was hit with a blast of warm air and a cacophony of voices that almost made him step back. As he slowly walked inside, the smell of sweat and ale intensified. The room looked to him as though it had been soaked in warm honey with its sepiatic light. He could barely pay heedance to the din of voices as he slowly walked over to what he assumed was the bar. The grizzly haired man behind the counter stopped polishing a broken mug and stared at Arrion.

“Just water, if you please,” Arrion said, barely audible. The man raised an eyebrow and leaned in closer, grunting, “Speak up, lad!” Arrion removed his gloves and said, “Water,” loudly, to which the man turned around wordlessly and rummaged through multiple cupboards for about a minute before drawing out an immensely filthy ceramic bottle.

“No charge for water,” he said gruffly, after slamming it down on the counter.

“But return the bottle,” the barman added. Arrion lazily grasped the neck of the bottle and turned to go.

“Ey, lad!” the man called. Arrion looked back, “Might want to clean yerself up,” the man suggested, before going back to his polishing, to which Arrion looked down, and smirked. He was coated with snow from head to toe, and looked like some sort of walking cloud. Snow flaked off him as he made his way toward one of the few empty tables, drawing multiple annoyed looks from those who caught his cold shedding. He collapsed wearily into his seat, brushed some snow off his arm, and guzzled some water down, relishing the coolness as it washed down his dry throat. In front of Arrion was a group of lowland miners, a common sight in remote places like this. He sat for a good while, drinking his water and biding his time, waiting for nothing in particular. Perhaps the loving hands of slumber.

After about a half hour, Arrion began to drift away from the tavern, into the dark but welcoming recesses of sleep. As Arrion was about to close his eyes, however, the table jerked abruptly - snapping his head back up to observe the newcomer. A hixen with rather short stubble, stocky shoulders, ivory skin, and opaque brown eyes had collapsed into the chair opposite him, the chair which he earlier noticed had a very worn and weak looking fourth leg which he did not want to trust. The man looked as, if not even more, exhausted than Arrion, removing his fur coat and drawing out his own half empty bottle of liquor unknown to Arrion.

“Hulloooo,” the man muttered through the clamor, to which Arrion inclined his head.

“The name’s Einhold,” he said vehemently, extending his hand across the table as much as he could, as he was slumped back into his chair. Arrion leaned forward and took it, and Einhold used this grip to pull himself up from his slumped position.

“Arrion is mine,” Arrion said, leaning back and taking another swig of water. Einhold nodded slowly, staring at the floor with an unfathomable expression. After a long moment of silence, Arrion piped up. “So, Einhold is your name? Never seen that name in the empire; who was your father?”

“Normally, I’m not one for chatting, Arrion,” Einhold murmured, almost to himself.

“Wha---? Wait, why did you even join me, then?”

“This table is the only one with some fraking space, lad!” Einhold barked, to which Arrion held up a surrendering hand.

Arrion waited patiently, staring out the tavern window into the dark gray night.

Eventually, he heard Einhold’s gruff reply. “He was a colonial,”

“Ah, mother too?”

“No, she was an oceansider - East of Highport.”

“So what are you doing all the way out here?”

Einhold cleared his throat and was silent for a few seconds.

“Moved here, my mother died a few years after my father.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t give me shit, you and I couldn’t care less.”

“If that’s what you think.”

“It is.”

Arrion fell silent for a few seconds, mulling over his next words.

“What happened?”

“Ehh, she was depressed, I believe---weakened her state of mind. My father, you see, did some years of service in the… Ninth Bronze company. Mountain campaigns in the North, up by Nyxea.”

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Oh? I suppose it was hard on him.”

“Indeed, nasty places he went, very nasty. Anyway, he was killed in some skirmish near the borders, and… my mother never got over it, I believe,”

“Why here of all places? Is it not dull?”

“Why, of course, I agree with you, but it’s the only place I can find decent work!” Einhold said defiantly. Arrion snorted skeptically, and drank some more water. An idea very abruptly struck him at that moment. Here he was, setting out to search for lost treasures, and badly equipped for such a journey. This hixen that sat before him had no family, was in a state of financial crisis, and was in a regressive state of boredom…

Perhaps Einhold could share in this adventure of his? Certainly Arrion could not possibly be able to do this alone, considering his absolute lack of knowledge in the matter of adventuring. Einhold would be the first member to join this odyssey. “Einhold,” Arrion began tentatively, pushing his water jug aside. Einhold grunted to show he was listening.

“Would you not like to leave this bleak place?”

“I would leave if I frakin’ well could,” Einhold replied half desperately.

“Do you have nothing you care for here?”

“What are you getting at, boy?”

“Why not join me?” Arrion offered in a low voice.

A loud crack made Arrion jump. The weak leg on Einhold’s chair had buckled, sending him crashing to the floor with a loud thump. Einhold staggering up, hurling obscenities at the chair as he dragged a second seat underneath him. “Come with you? Come where, my boy?” he finally shot back at Arrion, still fuming about the incident, which had drawn laughter from nearby tavern-goers.

“I would like you to share in an adventure with me, an expedition into the unknown.”

Einhold’s eyes lit up, but his eyebrows furrowed. “You… want me to take leave of my home here and just disappear into the blue?”

“That’s exactly what I am proposing.”

Einhold looked ready to argue, but Arrion continued,

“Think about it; you have nothing to live here for other than a shitty job, you have nobody you care about, no money, no flavor in your life, why not?”

Einhold leaned back, an intensely thoughtful expression carved into his features. Finally, he refocused on Arrion.

“I hardly know you, boy, what makes you think I will just trust you? Perhaps this is a tall tale! Perhaps you intend to rob me of what little I have!” Arrion shifted in his seat, his gaze dropping off to the side.

“If I intended to rob you, I would have already done so. You think anybody in this tavern would care?” Arrion said smugly, leaning forward. Before Einhold could reply, Arrion held up his hand, “Listen to me. We can both help each other immensely. I can offer you an adventure, and riches, and you can offer me help in obtaining that fortune,” he said vehemently. Einhold ran his fingers through his beard.

“Pray tell, what exactly is this...odyssey?”

“It is an odyssey to recover something lost, a hidden treasure that now lies in wait for whomever is ambitious enough to set eyes upon it. I tell you, so many explorers, so many thieves, all have tried and failed to locate this prize. But I, no, but WE will, we will succeed,”

“Boy, I am no explorer, I am a damn mason!”

“Einhold, I am no explorer, either, I am a damn hunter!”

Arrion took a breath, “We will be legends; our names will live on in the Empire forever! Einhold and Arrion, the hixen who conquered Augmaria!”

Einhold looked down, a stony expression upon his face.

“Einhold,” Arrion breathed, and Einhold looked up. “I need your help. I can’t do this alone,” Arrion said in a low voice again. Einhold remained petulantly silent, his hand massaging his temple. After a while, Arrion slowly placed the water jug onto the floor, shouldered his pack, and walked away toward the tavern door.

“WAIT!” Einhold hollered over the din, startling several people. Arrion turned at the threshold, cold winds blowing into the building. Einhold hoisted himself off the table and strode over to Arrion, grabbing his collar.

“Go to the town gates and wait there for me, make sure no torches are lit. I will retrieve my...belongings, and we shall make our departure,” Einhold said gruffly, letting go.

Arrion pulled a slight grin, “With pleasure, sir, and please bring a map of this place if you are able,” he replied. They both exited the tavern and separated to perform their tasks respectively. Arrion walked at a leisurely pace through the snow, which had now deepened since his absence. He headed back the way he came through the town, once again mesmerized by the gray and snow-caked scenery around him. He saw the gates up ahead, it wasn’t difficult anyway, as they were lit with multiple torches situated in positions that prevented the wind from blowing them out.

Remembering Einhold’s words, he pulled down the torches and buried them in the snow before replacing them upon their mounts. When the last torch died, the gates and immediate area around Arrion darkened dramatically, shielding him from sight. He could see the lit streets and houses a short distance away, but nobody seemed to be out at this time, and the guards seemed to have retired for the night. Arrion waited. An hour passed with nothing but the howling of the blizzard to keep him company; he pulled his coat tighter about him and sat down onto the snow. The cold was starting to get to him. Abruptly, he shot up. Einhold was hurrying down the street, a traveling bag in one hand and a tuber in the other.

“Alright, let’s get out of here, quickly, quickly!” He loudly whispered.

“What delayed you?” Arrion asked, as he adhered to Einhold’s passing movement. When no reply was offered, he set off at a trot to catch up with his newfound companion. Eventually, the winds began to falter, and the gray ceiling above the land began to brighten and dissipate. The snowflakes began to shrink in size and blinding rays of divine sunlight started to pierce the dark veil. For a long while, the two men struggled through the residual snow, every now and then exchanging glances of unfathomable meaning. Arrion’s mesmerization at the ease with which he persuaded this hixen to accompany him still lingered, and brought forth many questions yearning to be answered.

“Einhold?” Arrion hesitantly queried. For a moment, all he heard in reply was the soft wind, little flakes of snow bouncing and shattering upon his reddened earlobes. Einhold remained facing forward, wrapping his cloak around himself tighter. He appeared to have not heard.

Arrion opened his mouth to raise his volume before deciding against it, and lowering his head.

They trekked the rest of the night without speaking, and by morning had succeeded in distancing themselves from the town by several miles. The snow had melted by this point for the most part, leaving only intermittent patches of enduring pack snow. Finally, they stopped atop a large, tree covered hill overlooking the town from afar to rest.

“I just had to take care of some things before I left,” Einhold breathed, shaking the snow from his hood. Arrion took a moment to realize which question Einhold had answered.

“What sort of things?” He said blankly, opening his eyes and staring at Einhold.

“Boy, you know I can’t just up and disappear from town.”

“So what delayed you?”

“Oh ya know, I had somebody to see, things to collect, and I sold my room too.”

“Who did you go to see?”

“Since when were you so nosy, boy? I had to settle some debts with an old friend.”

“Do you have any other debts you need to settle?” Arrion asked incredulously, widening his eyes. Einhold gave him a glowering look, to which Arrion shrugged, “I don’t want a bunch of collectors at our throats during this journey. We can’t afford such petty inconveniences,” He said matter-of-factly. Einhold grunted and pulled his tuber out, offering it to Arrion. “There’s as good a weapon as any to deal with those sorts of people,” he said with a wry grin, to which Arrion chuckled. A tuber, one of the rare wonders of Mythilia - an exceedingly priceless weapon to get one’s hands on. He took the gun and flipped the hinged slat open, revealing its powder chamber; it was charred.

“Did you use this last night?” Arrion wondered aloud at this find.

“No, it’s just old, I shall buy more powder whenever we get the opportunity. It’s blackpowder, easy enough to find a dealer on the lowside*,” Einhold replied, shouldering his bag and motioning for Arrion to do the same, “Let’s get going, there’s a path not too far from here where our flour wagons come from, I say we follow it until we can get an idea of where exactly we should be going,” Arrion could not help but notice an acrid smell wafting from the barrel of the gun he was holding, before Einhold snatched it back.

They quickly descended the other side of the large hill toward a narrow gravel path where, most conveniently, three wagons happened to be traveling.

“Well, they certainly are heading the way we need them to be. Let’s catch a ride, shall we? Hey! HEY! Hello there!” Einhold hollered, waving his free arm around, the other was jammed under his pack as he was struggling to shift it to a better position. Arrion stared at the two largest containers, both marked with the Nyxean free trade insignias. The hixen drivers halted their steeds, and two dismounted, striding over to Arrion and Einhold.

“How goes it, gentlemen?” One of them droned sleepily. Einhold straightened up, “Fine, fine, it’s a beautiful day for a journey ain’t it my friends? I say, you have fine hair sir! What do y---” Arrion cut in, “We’d be grateful if you could perhaps let us ride for a short bit? Just so we can gain some ground, we have somewhere to be, and must make good time,” He said with a vague tone of beseechment. The men didn’t even consider, they waved their hands for Arrion and Einhold to follow them.

“Just hop on the back cart. Ye can’t sit atop ‘cuz we’ve got some delicate goods in there,” one of the men said relishingly as he mounted his horse. They trundled their way for a little over five hours through lightly forested hills that seemed to stretch on endlessly. Eventually, Einhold scooted over to where Arrion sat, dangling his legs off the cart.

“So--,” he said in a low voice. “Where to, boy?”

Arrion dragged himself out of his thoughts to Einhold’s question, “Sorry?”

“Where are we going?” Einhold repeated impatiently, making a sweeping hand gesture.

“Not entirely sure, West is as far as I planned.”

“Oh, well, do you have a map?” Einhold asked nonchalantly, holding out his hand.

“It’s soaked, snow got in - you?”

“Maybe.”

Arrion watched as Einhold rummaged around his back pockets, eventually yanking out a soggy rolled up paper. Arrion looked over the illustration as Einhold unfurled it, a general reference map, which he was somewhat thankful for - as it displayed much of the infrastructural information of the surrounding area. He surveyed the Enclave’s province of Liconia, searching for the nearest city where they could get their bearings on the primary goal of the quest. Einhold’s callused finger soon landed upon a small city quite close to where they were, named Gerendal. “Here, this Grey city seems to be nearby. Gerendal. Looks like it’s only around a hundred miles away, from what I can tell,” he said optimistically while glancing at Arrion, who raised his eyebrows and nodded.

“Gerendal, eh?” One of the men up front wondered dubiously. Both Arrion and Einhold glanced around the large crates.

“Indeed, and what of it?” Einhold said dourly.

“Ye both will ‘ave a fine ol time in Gerendal. ‘s one of the last decent cities left near the frontier. At least fer now,” the man said over his shoulder, his smile slowly fading.

“Excellent. We head there first thing tomorrow,” Einhold approved.

“Damn, I can’t believe this is really happening,” he mused, staring at the gravel path with a grin of sincere pleasure. Arrion merely gave him a pat on the shoulder, before leaning backward to take a much needed nap. They had a long couple weeks ahead of them. It was the late evening when the pair took their leave after thanking the drivers, and darkness had started to settle into the rolling hills surrounding them. They walked a short stretch before settling down beneath a thickly canopied tree, so as to make quite sure they would retain their dryness should it rain or snow during the night. Arrion could observe dim lanterns far ahead, illuminating the widening gravel road.

“Well, I suppose tonight we’ll have to freeze. I lost my previous encamping gear a long time ago,” Arrion said, annoyed at his ill preparedness.

“We can buy more at Gerendal,” Einhold said dismissively, and rolled over to face away from the shine of the moon. Arrion drew his arms into his coat and breathed to warm his stiff fingers. Although the snow had let up, it was still very chilly. After a time, Arrion got bored of examining the stars, and lay back against the tree. He quickly fell asleep, despite the biting cold, and slipped into yearnful dreams of fame and fortune.