It had been three weeks since Palance Arturius left Flora and the Highlands behind. That was a day etched in his Memory. Alongside it were other Memories, two years ago when he buried his mentor, Jaque, six years ago when he slew the orcish warlord that enslaved him, twelve years ago when he was enslaved by orcs, or fifteen years ago when he watched his father murder his mother and hang himself. He was a child of misfortune, born amidst a cataclysm of death many of the people who knew him considered him cursed. He didn't. He couldn't. It just wasn't him to give in to what was around him.

Palance was young, at the beginning of his nineteenth year. He wore simple traveller's clothing, a brown well-worn tunic made of wool with darker hide trousers and simple boots. His dark brown hair was cut short but well kept to match his short trimmed beard that framed his angular face and showed his slightly pointed ears that marked his Elven Heritage. On his back was a long bastard sword in a half sheathe, the worn simple hilt stuck over his right shoulder and the dull gleam of the blade showed it to be well kept. Over his left shoulder he had slung a simple canvas sack that held his meager belongings and food.

Storm clouds rolled up from the south, the thick dark clouds threatening rain on the Plains of Bohar. He was trekking along one of the major North-South roads through the plains, heading South towards Adeluna. It was a long walk, and he could see that there would be little to know shelter for the coming storm. Only a single sparse looking tree near the road would offer anything in the form of shelter and so he made quickly for it.

He reached the tree just as the first rains began to fall. Removing his sword and leaning it against the tree while tucking his sack beneath him to try and protect it from the rains. The wind was light at the very least, and it didn’t look like it would get any worse, though he had never been good at predicting the weather. He pulled from his sack an old hand-made flute and a crust of stale of bread. Ah well, it was just another day on the road. He ate a small bite of bread and smiled before he took the flute to his lips and played a simple tune to lighten the air. It’s tempo was upbeat, and it’s tune was pleasant, a far contrast to the dreary weather.

She was so unsure of how she managed to get herself lost. Inka had thought she was a rather decent tracker but today was proving her ideals about herself to be wrong. Her strange yellowish eyes had been watching the sky, rain was coming and there was not much cover around. Inka had traveled from her camp near the Moritius Swamp along the edge of the Ancense Mountians back into the plains of Bohar. Inka knew that the Plains of Bohar hosted a number of Boharaon tribes which roamed all over. She desperately wanted to come into contact with these nomadic people; perhaps they would have some of the local plains herbs she was looking for. Inka also wanted to try and build a relationship with the tribes here in the plains.

Bare feet carried her at a steady and even pace, considering there was not much cover to be seen she was in no rush - The rains had already begun to fall and there was not much she could do about it but accept it. She had taken her medicine mask of bone and stuffed it halfway into her medium sized back which was flung over her right shoulder. As mentioned before Inka wore no shoes - she did not care for such civilized things - like shoes and fancy dresses. Her attire was simply basic. A multi layered cloth skirt that had been hand dyed green and shredded and a top to match it.From various parts of her attire golden loops, feathers, beads and other small talismans like stones dangled here and there.  Her strange yellowish eyes looked forward surveying the land ahead in search of a place that might be suitable for her to sit and rest and maybe out wait the rain.