"Dust, dirt, and death is all this land has to offer." Marorin grumbled as he trod up a path leading to a wall sizable enough to leave an army waiting for new orders. He recalled his teachings of the old wars that took place this far north from old men back in his home. Back in the abundance of nobility. Back where he wished to be. His father's will had brought him all the way to Patet in caravan and carriage. Now it was time for him to travel west by foot.

He was a man with a slow, comfortable pace though he had no pack to carry. A man was he with a proudly upright walk and stoic face, showing no concern that he was the only one so foreign in the lot of whom he was approaching or that the land behind him was sick and dying. His face was tan and his hair twice as dark, yet his eyes were an almost-too-pale blue. They were like sunlight reflecting off small waves of fresh lake water and they were set on two others awaiting travel. The travelers seemed more prepared for the red plague than himself. He spoke before them politely with introduction before inquisition. 

"Good day to you both, I am Marorin of the Wilfire clan of Virens." He took a small bow to see the seated women eye to eye, then gave the same courtesy to the man at his flank, "Has there been any word on passage, or how soon it may be?" It was an effort to keep his face softened and hide his impatience, but it was important for him to be another country over by now. His eyes flashed between the mans avian accompaniment and the woman's staff and he felt like he wasn't the only one who may stand out.