[center] [b]A road near Amaryth,
Othea[/b] [/center]

A lone figure walked down a narrow, winding path surrounded by nothing but grasslands, hills and small farms as far as the eye could see. With a sigh, Marcus adjusted the bag and bundles on his shoulder. In the last week, he had determined by experiment that carrying a half-soaked tent, provisions, bow and quiver wasn't too great for one's back. His feet were sore after days and days of walking, and he was mumbling curses under his breath directed at his gods for creating such a vast world. 

Nevertheless, the view was great. After living in a small cabin in the vast woods near the Southern Mountains for the past three years, it felt good to see vast grasslands again. The air still smelled of rain and if he made an effort, he could see the glistering of the famous grand lake on the horizon. The city of Amaryth was visible as well, bathing in the morning light. It was one of the few grand cities Marcus had ever seen in his life, and to him, it seemed majestic. The way it stood there, proudly on its hill, with an air of loftiness surrounding it. He adjusted the cloth that hid his face slightly, as a grin spread around his lips. All in all, it was simply great to be on the road again.

He had tried his best and succeeded in avoiding the main roads ever since he had left the Southern Mountains. Right now, he walked a road that was somewhat parallel to the King's Road, and since it wasn't as well maintained as the latter, Marcus had found it to be less crowed than he had feared. Crowds always made him feel uncomfortable, and these days, the main roads were more than crowded. No wonder, since it didn't happen that often that the king threw a whole festival for his name day. 

A wry smile crept across his face, as Marcus thought back to all the "kings" he had known back home in Da-Hyun. Twelve... in a span of fifteen years. On two of their coronation days, the High Saeng had been killed just before he ascended the throne, and on one the poor man had been killed by poison in the holy water. It hadn't been a pleasant sight when the High-Saeng-to-be, fell to the ground, screaming as his skin and hair seemed to wither after the water had been poured over his head -as a symbol of unity with the gods-. Apparently, the gods didn't really like kings. 

Forcing his thoughts back to the present, Marcus noticed that there was a group of people walking not too far ahead of him. His bow hung on his back, just in reach, but with a shock, he realized that he wouldn't be able to reach for his arrows. What on earth had he been thinking when he put them in the bag with provisions earlier this morning? Admittedly, it had been early, he had been sleepy, the sun hadn't been up yet... But still...

Unconsciously, Marcus reached for his lower abdomen. Beneath the piece of cloth strapped around his waist was the reassuring weight of metal. His blade Sang Min was within reach and with that comforting knowledge, he continued to catch up with the group. A whispered prayer flowed over his lips in a language that wasn't often heard in these lands. Quietly, he asked the goddess Yuwhae to let the strangers have peace on their mind, and he pleaded to the god of war and plunder, Yun-Yeong, to mind his own business for once.

"No way that... Do it yaself!"

As he came closer to them, he noticed that three of the group were arguing about something. The group consisted of five men, three woman and two children. While being armed, none of them appeared to be looking for a fight, and they wore typically Othean clothes. His hand moved away from Sang Min and he sighed with relief. Marcus wouldn't have to shed any blood today. Even after all these years, he still felt haunted in the presence of anyone he didn't know. Especially his former countrymen made him feel spooked.

"Ya know bloody well.. necessary..." 

When he was only five yards away, one of the younger men finally took notice of the foreigner. 

"Hey and who is this then? Sneaking up to us like tha. Lance, look at tha. He's dressed real odd isn't he, that fellah." Lance... the name had an oddly familiar ring to it. A man as large as a bear turned his head towards them. While he at first seemed angry that the younger man had interrupted his conversation, his eyes went wide when he spotted Marcus. 

"Well blimey... I may be dammed if that ain't our very own Recluse!" Before Marcus had a chance to react, Lance had already grabbed him and hugged him tight, squeezing all the air out of Marcus' lungs. 

"Lanc....le..m...no..." But Lance paid him no heed and just continued to smother the sinewy young man while laughing his roaring laugh. When he finally let go of him, Marcus was sure he was a few bruises richer. 

"And wha on Azukhar brings ya so far from ya lil forest?", Lance asked with the thick accent of the southern mountain people. 

"Ya didn't come all tha way just to say ya miss me, did ya now?" Lance laughed loudly at his own joke and Marcus couldn't help but smile, invisible under the cloth covering his mouth. Lance was the blacksmith in the village that was closest to Marcus' cabin. Marcus often sold hides and home-made trinkets to him, in exchange for food and useful tools. The man was always kind to him, often inviting him to eat with his family and never insulted when Marcus declined again. After taking a good second look, he noticed that Lance's wife Meriam and his children Bruce and Amily had come as well. For Bruce and the small Amily, it would most likely be their first time in a real city. After nodding towards the three, Marcus returned his attention back to Lance.

"Actually, I'm on my way to the festival.", he said with a soft voice. His accent was barely noticeable, but his obviously foreign clothing obliterated any thought of him being a native quite effectively.

"Wha coincidence, so are we. Ya should join us!" Lance wouldn't take no for an answer, and so Marcus found himself continuing his journey with ten new companions. Herewith, his plan to avoid the main roads died a soundless death...