Embersoul Chronicles .001: The End of Goodness (In Progress)

The wind slashed across our faces with cold strain. Marching through the white snow would almost be stealth if not for the heavy clanks our terrain appropriate armor.

"Seven hells, I almost would privy Thordan to a lunatic having all us come here to do this," Whispers Pierremont, breaking the long silence of our march, "If this is reconnaissance, he would more than suffice."

For naught than a slight nod of agreement, Pierremont would have only be answered with the return of silence. The long drudge in the newly frozen highlands of West Coerthas has that effect on even the most elite of guards, most of us twenty would be a shaken mess if we dared enough to stop. Our stalwart leader, the one Pierremont suggested could solo this mission, sure looked the part; walking almost leisurely in the never end of snow 20 or so yalms to our front, looking for something just completely unabated by the frost.

"Prey tell me, you also notice something different about Thordan's Twelve, don't you? They're not normal men, I swear it." Pierremont quietly bursts at me as he nods towards our head man. As soon as an answer were to break the ice of my tongue, our commander stops.

From peripheral view, it didn't take much perspective to understand that Pierremont's face had shifted to a whole new type of frozen. This face, however, had the look eyes wide open fright. "He heard us," my mind flashed to me in one unsettled spark. The guilt of even just having been the one to receive Pierremont's comment flushed me with worry of Ser Grinnaux's backlash.

"We near our target." Grinnaux called to us without turning back after what felt like a damned eternal couple of seconds since he initially stopped moving. After creating the most inanimate sigh of relief, it was suddenly not an issue of weather conditions in bothering to physically turn to look Pierremont in the eyes just to communicate our mutual comfort of knowing Ser Grinnaux wasn't as freakish in auditory prowless as he was in combat.

Ser Grinnaux is the definition of a Knight. A statuesque Elezen: dark skinned, pointed ears and long golden hair of classic. And Grinnaux's armor amplifies the normal presumptions of Knighthood, an exquisite 50 ponze collection of white and blue-trimmed plate. This plate rested on any other being would certainly be cumbersome, yet Grinnaux lives comfortably - as if it was just an extension of his own skin. Heavily rumored is Grinnaux's lack of dawning a helmet, even in battle. Admittedly, it is not particularly hard to imagine him in bravado of tempting opponents to strike his face only to unwit them to their own peril.