Jegeren's Reise

[Facilis]

A crisp breeze greeted the man as he finally made it to the top of a rather large hill, the path wrought with the occasional bramble and dried bush.  Looking up to the blue sky, he considered the path he still had left to travel, leading into civilization below.  Dozens of small cottages and a gargantuan, imposing church in the center of the town.  The man thought for a while, stuck at the top of this hill, wondering if one could simply stay here forever and stop this constant moving.  'No'. He thought.   Shaking off the remaining doubt despite the lingering feeling in his gut that craved simplicity as opposed to the quandaries that came with the cities.  Yet simplicity would not sate his other much more louder desires.  Onwards, the man continued down the path towards the city, sighing wistfully as he began his trek.

[Facilis]

Arbora was a grand city, outside of the immense drug usage behind closed doors and crime afterdark when the guards go inside.  Cobblestone and thatch roofs were the norm, outside of the grand cathedrals to the Lawgiver, all spiney and imposing to remind the lesser peoples whom the Iron Tyrant is in comparison to them.  A hot breeze greeted the very same hunter who'd been walking for a while from the plains just outside the city.  His pack chockful of furs from a week of hunting, furs that were to be sold and exported to Barovia and later to other parts of the Core.  A strand of silver hair fell to his left shoulder, before he quickly hid it back behind his hood, hurrying his walking so that he might be paid sooner rather than later.  With haste he managed to finally make it to the trapper's shop.

"I can give you maybe some... two hundred bridles for this."  *The trapper said.  His mustache was decorated with breadcrumbs and day-old meat.
"Last week it was two hundred fifty, I know you give the other hunters better deals, so add another fifty so I can leave."  *The silver-haired hunter replied.*
"Look, fey, be happy I do business with your ilk in the first time, so either scram back to Tepest or take the coin I'm giving you.  Else I'm getting the Lawgivers a whistle to flog you."
*A snarl in response before the hunter took the offered coin and set off.*

Such is the life of the lesser races beneath the greaves of the Iron Tyrant.

[Facilis]

For all the plains that Nova Vaasa was known for, sometimes the beaches in Arbora encapsulated a newfound beauty as one gazed out into the far-reaches of the Sea of Sorrows.  The peace of the ebb and flow of the ocean against the land, yet knowing of the horrors below beyond human beliefs that can drive even the most grizzled fighters insane.  Or perhaps the simple presence of the Mists even with the ocean itself is horrifying enough, that something so unnatural and abnormal can exist in general.  Whatever feeling the Sea of Sorrows may provoke its viewer, at least its better to watch at a distance than sailing in it.  Alone, the silver-haired hunter was, who considered these different emotions that were provoked by simply staring out into the ocean blue.  Along those beaches he was at peace, just him and his thoughts.  As night began to creep in the sky above and day sought refuge elsewhere, the silver-haired hunter finally rose.  A quick dust off of any lingering sand before he made his way back to the nearby edges of civilization.  This time he thought, he’d add a little skip in his step on his journey to the outskirts of civilization by whistling this evening.