I leave Spellenrune for the first time. When my absence is finally felt I will be far away. All I carry is a map, a pouch of emeralds and supplies for a 4-day walk along with a dagger that is said to have belonged to Malthus himself. There is an encryption on it, still undeciphered. Ancient rune language. The knowledge of the meaning of these symbols was washed away centuries ago. That is the only inheritage I have. As I come closer to the border I start small talk with a group of farmers and hear King Albano is concerned beyond belief about the recent events. He fears Mithaurian will be the last standing country in Myridian, but stilll destined to fall. He is looking for answers from his high council but they are as desperate as he is.

Mithaurian is set between Spellenrune and Technokrest. A land of warriors that sets the old apart from the new. I plan to spend a night there in order to gather information and hire mount so the journey can continue the day after.

Little change is noticed when the border is crossed. At least at first. The green fields of Mithaurian resemble the place I grew up, miles back in Spellenrune. Nature is abundant and few buildings are at sight. As I move farther from the border though, instead of coming across tall churches and libraries, all there is to be seen are dense bushes and trees. The light of our three suns seems to vanish into the gloom. If only I could cast a spell of luminescence… That is why Mithaurian is known for being nearly impenetrable! Whenever anyone from another civilization had to enter Mithaurian a guide was to meet them at the border to lead the way. Maybe it was not such a great idea to come unannounced. The forest is murky and humid and it seems like eyes are spread all over the place watching my every move.

They do not bother me, except for a pair that seems to be everywhere I go. Sometimes it changes direction, as if to make me change my path. It is definitely not a creature of the forest. It moves fast and never lets me near it. I would stand no chance in combat against an aggressor. The Verge were never warriors. Luckily whatever that thing is, it has kept its distance all along the way. Somehow pushing me to the exit or into a trap… Watching close but never too close.

As I make my way out of the forest, safe and sound to my surprise, a patrol guard shouts from a distance asking me who I am and what business I have in Mithaurian, since the borders are closed as a safety measure in times of war. He comes closer as I start to speak. But after a glimpse at the dagger hanging from my belt he quickly draws a blowpipe and a dart punctures my neck. My sight gets blurred and confusion is all there is to remember. And a voice. Coming from the forest. Those eyes that had watched me back there! “You fool! Cease your attack! That is Nettor! Descen….”