The gates of Felcross are behind you now. The city where you were raised, the city of your first failures and rare achievements, the last great city on the way east. You look back, as if to say goodbye. There is nothing of worth left for you there, only your bickering family and your more successful peers.

You are a wanderer now. On your belt is a sword, on your back - a bag with tools, travelling gear, some money - whatever was left after your purchases - and rations. They won't last long, but you'll think of solving this later. Two javelins fit nicely in the quiver, slung over your shoulder close to the travelling bag.

Barely a man, not a youth, you start down one of the roads. You don't know much of the world, but you've had dreams. Dreams of power, people bowing to your might, of... freedom, to do what you want, however indulgent your desires may be. Of immortality, like in the tales of the Flower Harbringer and the Collector of Names.

They are far away, but one who doesn't begin his journey will most certainly never see its end.

You possess basic ability in the way of the sword and the javelin, having been given basic training for the militia, like any able man of the kingdom. You also know your way around the streets, courtesy of your upbringing. You can repair and take care of your weapon, and know the basics of crafting, having helped around the smithy for a time. You think you can survive on the road and subsist if need came. That's about all you are capable of.

You heard the road east leads to the frontier, the outlands. Not completely devoid of settlement, it is, nevertheless, a dangerous place - some of the monsters manage to sneak into the heartlands of the kingdom of Hien, not to speak of these wild lands, where they may have greater reign. Their distance from the heartlands means all kind of folk flock there, sometimes good in heart, but often dark. It also means greater freedom, whatever the cost. At least, that's what the caravans and travellers from that land told you when they passed through Felcross.

"Only madmen go east," your grandpa once said spitefully. "Those that don't know the worth of a family at your back or a proper home you can return to." Didn't stop one of your elder brothers from going there. Didn't stop you.

The road is calm for a few days as you pass by caravans going west. You didn't have enough money to buy your place in one, so you're going alone.

After the sun sets on the 4th day of travel, you consider making camp, like the previous days, but see a light further down the road. Approaching closer, you see a person sit by the campfire, a man, if you read their build correctly. He doesn't seem to have noticed you, tinkering with something in his hands. A tent is pitched nearby, and a spear rests by the fire. The faint scent of herbs and medicine drifts in the air. The smoke, too, of course.
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