[h3][color=fdc68a]Galia Guardstrike[/color][/h3]

	Galia held a palm sized stone in her hand, taken from the final pile of stones that marked the boundary between the civilized and savage world. She wondered, if there were a village on the other side who had set up a similar boundary. A no-go zone, where everyone assumes Feros Province has been overrun by evil magic. She doubted the cairns did anything, but their ceasing to exist meant that ahead was where her target lay. The trip had taken them awhile, and the sun was about to set. Give or take an hour.

	Galia's long dark blown hair was tied down into a braid that rest over her steel pauldrons and dangled over her leather chest armor. Overall, her armor was of the medium variety, a mixture of sturdy protection and mobility. Infact, she would have preferred more, but plate was expensive and she had done a poor job of maintaining her old sets in the decade she had gone without serious fighting. Bar fights, scuffles, and showing dominance over some fools didn't really count. Hopefully she wasn't as rusty as her old helm that had to be left behind. Ten years was a long time to go without fighting, and it was why Galia's wife was so worried. She was also worried that once Galia had a taste of the thrill of combat, she would go back to her old ways, but Galia knew she was stronger than that now. Ten years with Elly had softened her perhaps, but wisened her also. And she was old, too. Thirty-seven next spring. By God, where had the time gone? It felt like just yesterday she was intent on living hard, dying young, and leaving a pretty corpse. Now? She had gray hair licking at her scalp.

	Okay, so maybe thirty six wasn't [i]that[/i] old. Still, a sellsword's life was often a quick and glorious one. Especially one like Guardstrike's, who worked with...unsavory folks. This sword...Galia glanced down at it, her right hand rested it's gloved palm around it's sleek back handle. How many lives had it ended? How many people did she help kill, even if they didn't meet the business end of her sword? 

	The weather was nice, at least. The mountains and forest ahead were ominous and distant. Galia had promised herself that she wouldn't look back at the rest of Feros Province. She would only look ahead. If she hesitated and glance back, she may want to stay. To be there, with her wife, in her final seasons, as Elly had wanted. It was a selfish thing to do. It may all be for nothing, if she was too slow. Eleanor may slip from this world without her beloved at her side, and the idea made Galia's heart hurt. They hadn't left each other on the best of terms...	

	That didn't matter now. There was only the beast's head that she would bring to the steward and she would be granted her reward. Galia's introspective gaze hardened and she brushed a strand of loose hair from her scarred eye. She tossed the stone she held in her hand back onto the cairn and listened to it crackle down the pile of other rocks. Then she sat down on it, on the side facing to the North, her back turned. Knees high and placed her elbows on them and waited, staring ahead at the forest. Galia wasn't the only one travelling. To do so alone would be suicide- but with even a few warm bodies she could fell the beast as long as they kept it distracted. Sacrifices, as it were. Hopefully, it didn't come to that, and her new companions were warriors as steadfast or even moreso then her. It was possible. Perhaps the last ten years had weeded out all the foolish farmers sons who sought glory and fame and travelled out to die or lose their legs. Eleanor had seen many of them in the Practitioner's tent over the years. No matter what happened, Galia wouldn't be one of them. She would either come home victorious, or die. There were no other options.

	So Galia waited, first to arrive, her back turned against the path her companions would arrive on, but her demeanor, weapon, and location made it clear to anyone passing by that she was intending on travelling the North Road.