Roy was tired and cold. It had been no more than two days since he had been on this land and he already been nearly mugged, his coin stolen in his sleep, and had to kill three men. Normally, Roy would have refused to step a foot into this place but the curse had forced him into a corner. Curses like these were exceedingly rare and difficult to break, even the best of the court mages in Briston had no idea how to deal with it. This place was their only hope of breaking the curse and Roy was not leaving empty handed. 

The forest of Morkador, a place where even the most prepared of parties may face an untimely death and Roy chose to trek the forest alone. He did not wish to go here alone but after his 'guides' tried to rob and kill him three hours into the trek, he was sure he didn't need another problem to deal with. A number of hours pass without issue before he comes across the remains of a would be party of adventurers. The smell of blood was still present but the animals and monsters have not yet touched the bodies, save for some flies. He pauses for a moment...a feeling of ravenous hunger fills his mind as he gazes upon the lifeless forms of the dead. He shuts his eyes tightly and shakes his head to clear his mind. Now free from the thoughts, he grabs a handful of soil and places small amounts of it on the foreheads of the dead. A quick and common practice among worshipers of the divine to help ferry the dead to peace. Roy leaves soon after, hoping to avoid any beast or monster attracted by the smell of blood...though a growl behind him told him otherwise.

He turns to face a very large horned wolf growling at him. It had bared it teeth at Roy before it lunged at him. Horned wolves are known to be quick, but Roy was far quicker. In a flash of silver, the steel rapier was driven through the chest of the wolf mid lunge; stopped only by the hand guard. The wolf struggles while impaled on the rapier but with three feet of steel pierced through the beast's body and its heart, it quickly stops struggling. Roy lays the lifeless body of the wolf down while pulling the blade out of it and with a quick flick of the wrist. He then flicks off blood off the blade before sheathing it again at his side. 

[color=orange] 'To think this wretched and inhospitable land would harbor the salvation from the curse...' [/color]

He thinks to himself, walking away, heading deeper and deeper into the forest. It was nearly dusk when Roy finally saw the ruins of Norn. He could not help but smile. The only lead he had in curing the curse had finally lead to something. To him, this ruined city gleamed like gold under the sun. He would have wanted to go further but the day was coming to an end. He looks to a small dilapidated building near the outskirts of town and decides to make it his camp for the night.