You're heavy armored boots crush the pure white snow beneath you as you trudge along the frozen tundra of Bastorias, wind blowing the mantle on your back harshly.

You had come here looking for new work as a mercenary, though got lost as the weather picked up, leaving you to March onwards and hop you'd find shelter from the storm.

While you marched you also felt eyes on you, a feeling you knew well from your times being in situations similar to this in other climates, short visibility for you, but not what stalked you...

Though your train of thought is cut off when a Werefox with white fur emerges from a snow bank, spear in hand pointed to your neck emerges.

"Stop, another move and your dead"

She glares at you harshly.

"Why do you tread these lands Human?"