The incessant rain had finally stopped. The world below was wet, glistening as the moon shone down upon it. The forest stretched beneath him like a vast green ocean. He hated rain, but even though it had stopped, he still had to deal with the wind, which managed to find every seam and space in his tunic. The light riding armour was doing very little to keep out the cold. His rusty brown hair flowed behind him as he had tucked his helmet away in his riding bag. A shiver ran up his back, the rain had stopped a while ago but his tunic was still damp.

"Blast this infernal weather. It's like the gods send rain every time im out on patrol." said Drakar. 

    His hazel eyes looked out over the expanse of the Veridian forest. The moon was out bright and gave him a clear view of the Lecet mountain range. If it wasn't for the rain, he may not even mind patrol duty once in a while. If anything, it gave him time to clear his head and enjoy the scenery.

The only people he'd seen in the past two days were traders heading to Lygen. There’s not much else to expect from the Veridian. Traders, a few bandits and endless amounts of boredom. That’s why there’s only ever one person patrolling out here.

    He patted Scylla on his neck and pointed downwards towards a clearing in the woods. He was heading back to report to general Ayer but it would do him no good going back deprived of sleep and delivering an inadequate report.

    “Let’s head for that clearing and make camp.”

    Scylla nodded in agreement and descended towards the clearing. He banked left and began spiralling down towards the grassy patch of land dotted with rocks. He glided slowly in increasingly smaller circles until he touched down on the wet grass of the clearing.

    Drakar leapt off Scylla’s back and began removing his gear from the saddle.

    “Shall I remove the saddle as well?”, asked Drakar as he dropped his pack on the forest floor. “No, you may leave it on”, rumbled Scylla. “It will save us some time in the morning”.

    As always, Drakar began making camp while Scylla leapt into the air and vanished from sight. He would be back shortly with dinner, be it elk, deer or some other large game. Drakar would eat a small portion of it leaving a majority of the animal to Scylla. He started a fire and prepared a spit for cooking the meat which was soon to arrive.

    The fire was warm and comforting after a day in the rain. He took off his armor and placed it by the fire. Leaning against a boulder he pulled his sword out of its sheath. He laid it across his lap and began the daily ritual of sharpening and polishing the blade. It was a beautiful weapon, containing gemstones in the handle and inscriptions on the blade. The blade shone in the moonlight and Drakar looked down at one of the inscriptions.

    ‘I wonder what this means’ thought Drakar. He’d owned the blade for quite some time but never found out the meaning of the inscriptions. He had once brought it to the red tower to ask the mage’s if they knew but they were unable to decipher it as well.

He had come upon the blade by chance, taking down a group of bandits. It had been wrapped in a chest and looked to be the only thing of importance they were carrying. Being the leader of the patrol and seeing the quality of the blade, Drakar had chosen to keep the blade for himself.