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Packing was a difficult endeavor for him. His mother was worried, his father, non too happy and Vescartes had yet to speak to him. One would think he'd see him off but he had left early in the morning. Vilkas took it all in stride, bidding his family goodbye. Dromon had come by the day before for a bit of instruction and he felt confident enough that he would do well. Shifting and strapping the bag to his leg he set off eastward to the mainland, hsis father with his armor in another bag besid him. It wasn't too long of a journey for the dragon. His wingbeats were strong and steady. When he was hungry he dove down beneath the waves to hunt his bag protected by his mother's powerful enchantments. It would not burn, get wet and she had added an enchantment for keeping food fresh for a longer time. It took half a day, crossing over the Border Island before he reached the shore. He shifted and pulled on his clothes, his father watching him as he set off.

He wandered, meeting people and helping them. He rarely used his dragon form but they knew they existed and he kept just out of reach from any who would cause him trouble as they knew Dragons were rather strong. Vilkas helped quite a few people over the year and a half he was wandering. He made a few enemies, particularly a merc compy from the Dremorian Empire and several of the new super soldiers he defeated protecting a small village from being raided. He almost lost that but with his shifting and the blood rune version of Hagala, he whipped up  such a storm they had to retreat or die. The downside was that he was severely weakened from the encounter, having only bought enough time for the villagers to escape. He limped weakly into the forest, hoping to lose them. He had broken a wing and was in too much pain to shift out of it, making his progress slow. After an hour he found a river in a gorge. With the Dremorians hot on his tail he threw himself in, clutching his bag to his chest. [color=0047ab]"I need to get to the Sanctuary... But how in the hells am I to find it..."[/color]

When he came to he found himself lying on a rocky beach, blackness encroaching his vision. He groaned as he pushed himself up, noting his wings were torn in several places. High up on the cliff he could see a large structure, almost like a castle. He picked up his things in his maw and carried them as he made his way around to get up the cliff. Thankfully a path had been carved out and well maintained. A soft rain had started and mixed with the dragon's blood. He made it about halfway up the path before he slipped, claws scrambling for purchase on the rock. Flaring his unbroken wing for support he caught himself. [color=0047ab]"That would have been a long tumble I can't take right now..."[/color] He kept climbing, reaching the top of the cliff where he could see the structure for what it was. A large bastion, positively radiating magic to his draconic eyes. He kept moving forward, reaching the back entrance. It was there he finally collapsed, body unwilling to move another foot forward. Dropping his bag he succumbed to the black, his wounds and blood rune use too much for him.