There was a sense of adventure in the air but also a certain kind of apprehensiveness. Its the middle of the morning, the sun slightly blanketed by white clouds. A light breeze even blows throughout seas of grass southern of the Carcino border, cooling those in Fort Ishmaire a neutral stronghold on the continent Auerlis. But this pleasant weather hardly overshadowed the ominous events to come. The threat of a war's revival tears at the seams of peace set in place by those of Beorcian blood. Only fourteen sunrises have passed since the councilmen of Renais and their King declared the formation of a vigilante group tasked with the specific and ruthless hunt of shapeshifters. Certainly the first move of many more to come. With this group, it won't be long till the racial tensions explode out of proportions, once again starting a much more large-scale war like ones that the generations had before. The breeze grew stronger for but a moment, as if the cogs of destiny slowly began to turn once again after resting idle for far too long. Revolution was at just about everyone's doorstep in Aurelis and soon death would become unavoidable. The question is, which race will stand at its conclusion? ~~~ Fort Ismaire, an old Beorcian stronghold ran by those sent by the representatives of the Carcino Republic laid right in the center of Aurelis. Many travelers pass through here, tempted by its Inns and taverns. The fort itself was rather huge, almost like a city in its own right. With all of its human nomadic visitors, it's quite the melting pot of ethnicity gathering people from Grado, Renais, Frelia, even Jehanna. Somewhere near the center of the fort, a woman whose hair trailed behind her in blazing waves strode through the crowd. It didn't take a bloody genius to tell she was something more then just another merc with an axe. The determination in her emerald green irises showed she had a purpose. But the general expression of her sharp features told she wasn't exactly enthusiastic to said purpose. Her vestments were simple, tanned leather boots and leggings, a linen shirt and a sleeveless green vest but the axe swinging with her hips was crafted much more intricately. Her name was Freyja Velarius. Co-ruler of Grado. Alongside her older twin brother, Freyr she led a country of hardship yet perseverance. The hardworking mentality of the girl reflecting those from her homeland. Freyja had wished her darned brother had been forced to become part of this hunting group but she admitted he was definitely the brains of their rule. Not to say she was particularly dumb, but she'd prefer taking up weaponry then useless diplomacy. Heh. It was one of the reasons that made her scion to the human nobles, a title she secretly took pride in. She hated those stuffy noblemen and women up north. They were far too privileged and relied heavily on her already crippled country for materials. The fact that the group required one royal representative from each kingdom tells Freyja that this isn't going to be fun for her and them. Now she was heading towards the rendezvous where said lordlings and hired mercenary should be waiting. "Ah..but it seems I'm the first to arrive." Freyja spoke, her thoughts transitioning into spoken words as she arrived in a clearing barely outside of the eastern gate. Her eyes flashed towards the bandit-infested desert not too far away. How she hoped they would not have to venture there first. Along with stuffy nobles she hated the sand.