Like ripples, the choices of the past and present accumulate and congregate into one, forming a massive tsunami soon to lay waste to the world as we know it. The deeds of our fathers, and their fathers, as well as our own will soon manifest themselves into a new future. Change is on the horizon, and while like insect most migrate to the dawning light. There are those that understand that not all change, not all progress is in the best interest of the world. Good and evil, justice and injustice, these words themselves hold power. Invoking a sense of emotion few can so readily deny. But what are such words; what if such intangible notions were but a lie? An illusion triggered by the stirring and yearning of the soul? The truth, the truth so many seek that is undoubtedly out there is both in ones face, yet tucked in shadows. Sometimes for the greater good, a lesser evil action must be embraced. While few understand the gravity of their actions, blissfully opting for ignorance instead of enlightenment. There are those that can perceive the harsh reality of existence, and what it means to be truly alive. That every action has a reaction, that every deed no matter how innocent or cruel morphs our world bit by bit. Until such a time as one future is destroyed, and from it's ashes another spawns. It is this understanding that brought Kirk to such an isolated part of the world. For deep in the marshland, where few dare venture or care to turn an eyes toward. The first seeds of the future were sown, and it took the form that all unwelcome revelations guise themselves as...a rumor. Here within the small settlement of Moarbay, constantly at war with the lizardmen and the beast of the wetlands the truth could be found. Within the Vine smog inn the Aasimar could be found, eyes of cerulean blue and hair like locks of gold shimmering in the sparsely flickering orange hue of a crackling fire. Across from this plane-touched individual was an old man, skin as wrinkled as any with his color forever stained by the filth of his home. "You've come quite a ways Aasimar; across the realm practically to hear my story?" He questioned, as his eyes peered hopelessly into an empty tankard. The stranger to these parts would wave, ordering another drink for the poor harbor man. "Indeed, I am hoping that your tale no matter how whimsical it may seem, could shed some light on my own journey." His voice smooth, hypnotic as was expected for one of his birth. "Aye, so be it. They came from the fog of the swamp, riding horses carved from the bones of fallen men. Behind them blacken smoke, setting ablaze all in their wake. They attacked my town in broad daylight, killing men, women and child alike. Yet snatching a few select villagers, before soaring off into the heavens. Their bodies smelled of the dead, yet their onyx armor as polished and covered in various of engravings. Their mask...that's what I remember the most. The Mask they wore were pure white, yet even through the sockets where you'd expect to see eyes, no light or color could be witnessed that day." He paused, his hands shaking from distress as he relived that day. "They took my daughter, She is now dead." Kirk sighed, having heard the same accounts from various settlements for years now. Yet not king, not government would acknowledge their existence. "The Riders, did you see them kill those they abducted?" He questioned, knowing full well that such question was a bit rude. "No...but those they take never return." his voice breaking under the strain of his flooding emotions. As the grown older man began to cry, tears rolling down his face. "Not all..." The Aasimar retorted, matter of fact life before rising from his seat. Patting the man on the shoulder before making his way outside to inn. Blue eyes surveying the eerie swamp lands, before averting his eyes to the cloudy skies. "If the pattern serves right...it won't be long now." He muttered to himself, barely audible enough for anyone to have noted.