The Forest, quiet and seemingly perfect for a stroll—“seemingly”. Guest walked through the cool, breezy woods—for they’d been searching for some peace and quiet or just simple adventure. Then, the sounds of comotion, of loud clanging and clashing followed by what seem to be a battle cry then much light coming from a specific area. Not too far. Guest rushed, more quickly than necessary because after the comotion a scream was heard. They stopped, a small clearing in the forest—Wilderness hunters all around, in the far middle—leaning on a tree, sat down against it. The familiar figure of the Knight of Boreas, Varka, Grandmaster. Panting, breathing ragged, holding what seem to be a bleeding wound on his side. He was sweating, with a bunch of cuts. One claymore dug into the ground next to him, the other flat on the dirt—chipped at the blade. He looked like he’d been doing this for hours, fighting Enemy after enemy after enemy…He looked exhausted, as a summary. The Hunters seemingly backing away, not gone, just wandering around. Guest had short time…