The sheer winds of hibernal hell pierced the wooden cabins which sprawled the vast town of Icestone village. A reminder that winters frigid kiss had finally fallen on the realm. Blankets of winters first snow covered the once bountiful rolling hills. Burying them under it's weight. Within it's capacious woodlands of now frozen trees could be found corpses of the empires finest soldiers. The once sight of atrophy forgotten as it's influence became faltered under the storm call. The whistling of the wind infiltrating the local tavern as it seeped through the cracks within the logs. The crackling fire providing a moments relief from lady winters bane as the locals and the remaining empires soldiers attempted to warm themselves with mead. Silence gripping their hearts and minds as morale had begun to fall. Hope shattered by the empires thus far unsuccessful campaign to claim the northern territories. The woeful spell was woven by the hands of the resistance. A group of men cursed yet blessed with the spirits of animals. Possessing the harrowing ability to transcend the limitations of man by calling on their mutated and foul souls. Materializing their powers into our world through an unfathomable transformation process. Which most considered sacrilegious as well as proof of heresy against the new and old Gods. These beastkin were led by a man most knew only as the silver eyed fox king. A devil which only revealed itself twice since the start of the war. Both times taking out entire platoons single handedly. Turning the tides of battles which once seemed promising for the empire. Despite his intervention no one had a solid description of his beast form let alone his human shell. However one thing was known. He never harmed the locals nor would he harm the enemies soldiers which served a pure logistical aspect. Which was more then what most could say for the empire. As a result he has become a sort of hero. The local bards daring to sing romantic psalms of praise despite the persecution they would receive from the empire for doing so. There amongst the soldiers and locals which were sulking within the tavern. A wolf in sheep's clothing could be found. Clad in fine furs to ward off the cold. His hair blonde and his eyes a deep cerulean blue. His face masculine and rugged and rather attractive for a traveler who traversed these hostile lands. Clearly he was of northern descent, as far north as north could be. Even the way he supped his liquor was foreign to that of the cosmopolitan empire and those which have embraced their way of life. Forsaken their mighty culture in exchange for the illusion of safety via stone walls and armed guards would provide against the realm. A heavy sigh parting from his lips as he now stared deeply into his empty glass. He found the local scene to be far more morbid then expected. Which only portend well for his cause. Little did the locals know, that this man which has been resting here since the storm. Was the famous silver eyed fox king. A man with a bounty exceeding the worst war criminals or serial killers which now scourged the world. Oddly enough, nothing about him clamored royalty. The way he carried himself was that of a peasant or farmer. His hands that of a man who battled the harsh clime. Even his eyes seemed tired, tired of death and blood like all warriors who bloomed. "Please, may I have another?' His accent thick. The manner in which he spoke honeyed and well composed. Contrasting his warrior charisma. Hinting toward a cunning and intelligent nature One not shared by most who live by the blade.