Stillness gripped the evergreens. No lilting song of winter birds or subtle whispering of wind lifted the peace of the day. A mild rustle broke suddenly from the silence, never growing louder as it was swallowed by the heavy pines circling the gap in the woods. Underneath one such pine, dark green and white sheets of thick material with a mild lustre were draped among the lowest boughs. They joined with more such sheets that spread along the bottom of a hollow in the snow around the trunk of the old tree. A figure wrapped in furs stirred from sleep inside the makeshift shelter, breathing deep of the fragrant air before carefully rolling the skins from his body, dressed in the lightest layers of his field dress.
From his prone position, Aonghas started about the usual morning routine, reaching for his rigged gear and withdrawing his clothing, replacing it after dressing with the light furs from his bedroll. The lengths were rolled and packed tightly to save space. He did the same with the wrappings around his cleaver and knives, and secured the weapons to his leg and chest rigging. Pausing a moment to listen for any foreign sound, he untied the camoflague sheets and crawled from his hide. Crouching in the dim morning light, he peered around into the forest, wary from a lifetime in the field. Detecting no others around in the nearness, he turned and dragged the sheets from underneath the tree, folding and tying in various places until the mass of material found itself in the shape of a large cloak. Securing the concealing article around his shoulders, he pushed the dug out snow back under the tree and walked back toward the road on the same track he had taken the previous evening.
The walls of Rhy'Din were stark and brown in the distance below the grey sky, imposing even as they signalled a welcome change of pace to the mercenary. He was unused to comfort, and looked forward to the company of other people and the warmth of a well-kept hearth. Smiling, he paced through the snow, advancing on the gates along the main road. As he approached the gate, he absently checked his rig, ensuring all his kit was secure before stepping past the guards who languished in the cold around the gatehouse.
Walking through the unfamiliar streets, he drew a small parchment map from a pocket inside his coat, and placed a finger on his current position. Locating the neat writing that indicated "Red Dragon Inn" on the drawing, he scaled the distance between himself and the building with the widths of his fingers, and replaced the map. Continuing along the road, admiring the old architecture of the town, he strove with purpose to the famed establishment.
Rounding a final corner, he spied his destination, and paused for a moment outside to listen. The sounds of what seemed to be a wide variety of races reached his ears, indicating that this is indeed where he should be this evening. Committing the location and route to memory, he continued on down the snowy streets to the marketplace. There was a certain smith shop Eoin had mentioned, and he wanted to see if the old man was truthful; that the Dawnsteel had indeed come to these lands...
