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Skingrad was nice... but it wasn't exactly my cup of tea when it came to locale to spend more time in than I needed. Like Cheydinhall, it was too... upscale... too pretty... to rich for my blood, considering I stood out like a sore thumb. A man in a patched-up cloak, clinking leather armor with piecemeal chain, and a rusted sword on my back in need of either a repair or an upgrade. A man who smelled of blood and battle who plied his trade in the dingy basements of the downtrodden elite.

Still... the path out of the city was nice at least. Pretty to behold even if I was more use to the bustling city streets of mud rather than the cobbled roadways that - despite being out here in the middle of a long stretch of nothing - still seemed cleaner than the road beneath stepping legs that smoothed then down constantly. 

An unease though came to my mind the further I progressed on this lonely road. I couldn't help but notice that something was moving in the swirling mist to my sides off into the trees as the movement of figures rustled through fern, brush, grass, and more. 

My imagination? I don't know. I cautiously rose my hand to the handle of my sword though the more I traversed. Maybe whatever was there was smart enough to leave well enough alone a man duty-bound to a doyen with a sack of coins waiting for him.