The golden sunlight cascaded down onto the shrine of tranquillity, that being the ambigous forest. Sounds of thriving wildlife echoed, yet the animals were all cold-blooded killers. The heavy footsteps of Lannion and his stallion broke the unusual repeating record of noise, the sound of his blood dripping on the floor adding to the environment.

He wasn't some damn traveler. He was an outlaw, banished from the city after being framed for treason. He was the greatest assassain, and he posed a threat to them. He'd been attacked by wild boars. They took the resources he brought with him and left him for dead.. The Yvette Farlands were distinct. It's its own biome with species not found anywhere else. It was a dangerous place to be roaming while vulnerable and unaware of what it holds.

He was a lost cause. Some of his wounds were deeper than others, barely patched up. He made a poor effort, and the bandages were slipping off. But within that moment, he gained hope, the scent of burning herbs, something cooking, it filled his nose and felt like bliss.

Praise whatever deity or god was out there for bringing this to him. All of a sudden, his footsteps picked up before he finally stumbled upon a cottage beside a lake. Smoke had risen through a chimney, and a dog ran around happily, sniffing every flower there. While a woman was picking strawberries and fruit.

"Please, fair maiden, I am politely requesting assistance for my... casualties," Lannion entreated, his voice low and gravelly. He was starved, dehydrated, and on the verge of succumbing to his injuries. He was practically whimpering. "I beg of you."