A young man in a long, black cloak plodded down the mountain trail, hunched over, folding his arms over his chest and shivering under his cloak. He was not quite prepared for the drop in temperature after leaving Plegia, and things would only worsen once he got to Ferox. He tried to cast his mind from the cold and continued walking. The temperature wasn't the only thing that had changed, the scenery had been gradually getting lusher on his travels, but the mountains were hardly flowing with vegetation. Still, there were enough fruit-bearing trees around for him to scavenge a decent amount of free food.
It hadn't been long since he'd left Plegia; only a few days. He missed the warmth and safety of his manor back in Plegia, but he wouldn't get to enjoy its comfort if he was drafted into the military. As a dark mage, he would be at the top of Plegia's list for potential soldiers, but he would be one of the worst possible candidates. The rigorous physical training would break him, he wouldn't be able to keep up with the tight schedule and wasn't the sort of man to take orders. However, what he was good at was casting magic, particularly of the elder variety. Dark magic had unrivalled stopping power, and hexes could prove useful for all sorts of situations. This man was Cedric Blackmore, Grimleal acolyte and apprentice dark mage.
Further down the path Cedric began to hear shouting in the distance. Fearing conflict, he pulled up his hood, but hurried over to investigate.
A scene of bloodshed awaited him. Two groups were locked in combat; perhaps rival bandit clans? It was hard to distinguish who was on which side; some combatants were clad in sets of armour that were at least functional, whereas the others had nothing better than leather breastplates, through which their enemies' blades could easily tear, and farm implements. However, there were two who stood out from the others: a young man with a proper sword and brigandine, and a monster of a man who looked like a bandit himself, but was clearly on the other side. Perhaps they were merely villagers, and only the other side were bandits. Cedric felt sorry for them, but he had fled Plegia to avoid conflict, not to get mixed up in it.
However, he wasn't left much of a choice. A war cry from the foliage to his left quickly grasped his attention; an armed man was charging towards him, his lance poised to skewer Cedric. It would have, too, had Cedric not managed to pull off a timely sidestep, which he followed up with a discharge of dark magic directed at the brigand's left leg. The spell blew off his entire leg, causing him to fall over. The man began to cry out in agony, but Cedric couldn't have him drawing any attention. Cedric lacked the guts to kill him, so he wiped some of the brigand's spattered blood from his cloak with his fingers, released a small amount of dark magic into the blood and then blew on it. The bandit's cries abruptly stopped, not because he was dead, but because he was suddenly incapable of making any sound at all. He stared in terror, awe and confusion at Cedric, a stare that gained the response: "Silence hex."
Cedric couldn't simply leave now that he had been dragged into the conflict, so he pulled his hood down further and slunk into the fray. He didn't intend to kill anyone, but that wouldn't stop him from causing some damage. He sneaked up behind a bandit, kneed him in the back and followed through with a lick of fire to the man's thighs, which would prevent him from standing. He also kicked his sword away, just to be safe. If anyone was the leader of this ragtag bunch, it would be the swordsman in the brigandine, so he offered him a nod to inform him that he was here to help. The nod delivered, he slipped back into the shadows to find his next target.