Faregon runs his calloused fingers along his blade, mulling over the predicament that has been plaguing his already chaotic mind.

"You don't have to do this! Just walk away!" Jared says, with quivered lips. Jared isn't the type of man to falter in confidence of a man so used to slaying demons and its ilk, but his friend is about to embark on a mission not designed for the likes of brave, mortal men.

"This is not your usual hellhound or succubus encounter Faregon ... " Jared continues. "I don't know if you'll walk out of this one alive. Your skills have served you well, but even a swordsman of your caliber is unequipped to deal with this."

Faregon isn't one for many words. He gets up slowly, using his blade to lift himself off the mossy rocks. Jared again pleads with his friend. "Don't do this please! How are you going to kill something you cannot see?"

Faregon looks at his anxious companion with weary eyes. He wishes he can mutter words to assure his friend that he will be fine, like always, but the air of uncertainty lingers like never before. "I can't!" Faregon responds pensively.

"What is your plan?" Jared asks.

"Die trying!" Faregon replies earnestly.

As Faregon trudged through the harsh and wintry conditions of Moon Peaks, his mind weighed heavy with the burden of uncertainty. The biting cold gnawed at his exposed skin, and the relentless wind howled like a chorus of lost souls. Yet, he pressed on, driven by an unseen force urging him forward.

Just when he thought he could endure no more, a faint glimmer of light pierced through the blizzard, beckoning him toward a humble tavern nestled amidst the snow-capped peaks. With weary steps, Faregon approached the weather-beaten door, its wooden frame creaking in protest as he pushed it open.