High in the mountains, four bandits crept low through the undergrowth in readiness for the old man who approached. A big fat fellow with a gravy stained beard signalled to his accomplice on the other side of the trail. A hand appeared above a mylar bush that signalled the two were in position. Djellen smirked. This old man should have known better than to travel these mountain trails alone, he’d pay for his lack of foresight with his life. As soon as the old greybeard wobbled up to Djellen and his small gang, they’d jump him and lift his purse. Easy. Djellen waited.

Marcus Volgen, was an ageing man. Now somewhere around 60, he was beginning to feel the weight of the years upon his shoulders. Only recently had his hair and whiskers started their inevitable journey towards greyness, the first visible sign that Marcus Volgen was not the man he once was. The white season was coming to the land of Admerrum, and Marcus was catching the first of it here on a frosty morning in the mountains of Pyron.

The thieves were still watching him. He’d known of their presence the night before when he’d pitched his simple tent on the side of the trail under the protection of an enormous samman tree. Yet again he caught a glimpse of sun on steel as the early morning sun bathed the mountainside in a fiery blanket. The morning was crisp and the southern breeze had not yet begun to ruffle the trees masking the movement of the would-be killers. “Insane Fools,” Marcus muttered to himself as he drew nearer to where the men hid.

Djellen shouted and flew into the middle of the trail directly in front of Marcus and held a shining sword rock steady at Marcus’ throat. Moments later another three rumpled and dirty looking men emanated from the underbrush and drew their weapons. Marcus sighed.
“A nice mornin for a walk old man, is it not?” spoke Djellen with a smirk.
“Aye,” replied Marcus. “Though a little crowded all of a sudden.”
“Well,” replied Djellen. “Me and the lads noticed how burdened you were by that pack, and thought we might relieve you of its terrible weight.”
“I’ll keep it thanks,” replied Marcus with a smile. “A very special friend gave it to me.”
Djellen made a show of looking concerned. “Now look old man, that pack of yours belongs to us now, so you may as well give it over without a fuss. Else we might be drastic and kill you.”

Marcus was tired of the needless banter this cutthroat was wailing on him and decided to get things moving a little. His arms blurred as he whipped his hand up and took hold of the blade Djellen was holding and yanked it from his grasp. He then tossed the sword blade up and caught the grip as it swung to him in the air. Djellen paled in colour as he now looked down the blade of his own sword pointed nastily at his own throat. “BOO!” Marcus yelled at the same instant for effect. The three others jumped back immediately, unsure of what had just happened, one of them giving a startled yelp at the unexpected flurry of activity. It was clear to Marcus that these men were amateur thieves as even thieves in training would not blunder as these men had done since their first sighting of him the night before. Djellen, now embarrassed in front of his gang was furious and began yelling. “Get im lads!!! Cut out his innards! The vile whore!”

The three lads regained their composure and came at Marcus as one, swords flailing and axes whooshing. Marcus was quick to evade the blows, which seemed nothing more than the actions of babes to him. He read every move, dodged every blow and parried every thrust the four of them could make. He sprang from the middle of the pack and rolled to the side of the trail where he snapped a modest stick from a sapling samman tree and began to use it to defend himself. He had a deadly sword hanging from his belt, hidden by his full length robe. But he didn’t need it to fend off these buffoons.

A fatty with a faded red woollen snow tunic came at him while the rest split and moved to cover the sideways escape routes Marcus might take. He noted this and dismissed that he was in any real danger. The red fatty was reasonably good with a sword, but Marcus found he was easily able to dance away from the blade before it came too close. With a speed that left the others gasping, Marcus poked the red fatty in the forehead with the samman stick then struck a numbing blow to the mans wrist, breaking it. The Fatty cried out in a terrible wail and dropped to the ground clutching his broken wrist. The others stared dumbfounded. “Who are you?” Djellen managed with pronounced stutter. “Just an old man, out for a stroll in the mountains,” Marcus said merrily as he twirled the samman stick in his hand. “More than a simple ‘old man’,” Djellen came back warily. “We are no match for you, you may pass old man but prey we never meet again.” Marcus smiled. “Why thank you my good sir!, I’ll try not to bother you in the future. It simply wouldn’t do to have my wrist broken at my extreme old age now would it.” Djellen got the point. With a final look of menace he signalled his men to stand down and retreat into the underbrush from where they had come.

In moments Marcus was alone again on the trail with his samman stick, although he sensed the thieves watching him as he adjusted his pack and resumed his way along the trail. It was the fourth time in as many days that he’d been attacked in these mountains. The emperor only sent patrols up into the mountains during the season of Karr when it was a warm enough for a comfortable patrol. During the white season the passes of the Pyron mountains were increasingly becoming home to thieves and cutthroats waiting for a rich merchant to try his luck on the mountain trails in the snow.

That afternoon the first of many white season storms began to brew in the southern sky, and Marcus knew that come nightfall the mountains would be awash with snow and driving icicles. Already the temperature of the southern wind had dropped significantly and Marcus knew this meant a very uncomfortable night in the snow should he be unfortunate enough to be out in it. Fortunately the mining town of Nurren lay within reach in the remaining daylight, if he picked up the pace a bit. Nurren also was becoming a haven for bandits and thieves in the white season due to the lack of the emperors patrols at that time of the year. Marcus knew he’d need to be very careful. Marcus knew he could survive the night out in the storm if he wanted to. But he’d likely need to use magic to keep himself warm enough. If he kept a spell going all night to keep himself warm the Kraal hunter who’d been chasing him this past year would likely sense it and be alerted to his whereabouts once again. Marcus certainly could do without that demonic thing at his heels a second time.

The Kraal were unknown to most men. They were trained by the circle of five in ancient times to hunt down those with magical skills who would not conform to the rules set down by the circle governing the use of magic. The circle of five being long since vanished, the kraal were now ruled by greed. If you had what they wanted, and you could find them. Then whoever you wanted dead would be so in very short order. They were beasts of legend with strong limbs and silver fur coats covering their muscled bodies. They hunted at night so as not to be seen by ordinary men, and had teeth a plenty for dealing with their prey. Marcus knew little more about them. The one hired to kill him was twice the height of a man and had phosphorescent green eyes that seemed to glow when the beast was angered. Marcus’ training as a Guardian Warrior was the only thing that had kept him alive until this point. At the height of his youth he knew he could have given the thing a real fight for its life, but he was now slower and older. Hence the beast had been sent now that he was vulnerable.