It was cloudy, dark and wet outside. A Keep rested a top of a hill with a couple of guards staying inside with a fire between them. In the city of Barhoth, there was a plague, something dark haunting the people. James Thesmore was one of the those who was fleeing the town to find shelter. It was cold there, and there wasn't any snow. The town was dying as well as the Thesmorian Trading Company. His father had spent years working in Barhoth trying to work his business into it's core. Now that this dying city was smoldering fires and empty houses. No one knew how to cure the plague, so the best thing to do was run. James had to close the business and move it elsewhere. He knew some merchants in Bayon who would be able to bring his business back and possibly expand it throughout the western lands and the world. The rest of his workers were sent to Bayon while he closed up in Barhoth. The city was quiet, the king and his men had already left. He described this place with one word. Cursed. Before leaving, he pack up his things and rode the caravan to Bayon. They weren't exactly in the eastern side of the world, nor the west. The city was located toward the east, but not considered apart of the western kingdoms. Some called it a kingdom of travelers, because so many people pass through it. Now that is dying, it is a forsaken kingdom of lost souls. As he left he felt a part of himself leave as well. This was his home, but now his home was elsewhere.