Boots stomped over the destruction and ash that was once a beautiful kingdom of riches in the North. Now, crumbled into gold ash that will soon fade back into the dull dirt of the earth.

Soldiers of Tenebrae, over a dozen marched through, looking for any survivors of the chaos to either end them quickly or bring them back to their own kingdom as a sort of offering for their king.

The kingdoms far and wide heard the tales of Tenebrae and it's king. Cruel and unforgiving, the poor kingdom below the palace neglected.

Ferelith knew that cruelty first hand. Only twenty-eight and already has been a soldier for over twelve years now. He knew nothing but bloodshed as he grew out of his teenage years.

He walkes through the forest, his rifle carefully held in both hands as his boots marched rythmatically through the soft leaves and shrubbery covering the forest floor. His eyes darting around in cold observation.

Movement.

"Who goes there." He barked out, drawing his rifle as he watched for whatever —or who ever— made the movement. "Come out, in order of Tenebrae-"

His eyes widened inperceptably as an arrow flew past him, just barely caressing his helmet. An Archer.