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 struggled against the relentless onslaught of the blizzard, his strength waning with each passing moment, he felt his consciousness slipping away. With a final, desperate gasp, he succumbs to the icy embrace of the snow-covered earth, his body surrendering to the numbing cold. With eyes barely open, he catches a blurry glimpse of a shadow in the distance, before darkness consumes his vision.

When he awoke, it was to the dim glow of candlelight and the faint scent of herbs that hung heavy in the air. Blinking away the haze of unconsciousness, Faregon found himself lying upon a rough-hewn cot in a small, dimly lit chamber. The room was sparsely furnished, its walls adorned with faded tapestries and shelves lined with dusty tomes.

As his vision cleared, Faregon's gaze fell upon a figure seated beside him - a cloaked silhouette shrouded in shadow, their features obscured by the flickering candlelight. Sensing Faregon's awakening, the figure turned to face him, their eyes glinting with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

"You're awake," the stranger murmured, their voice soft and melodic. "By the looks of things, you've travelled far, and travelled long."

Faregon could not think straight. His eyes hurt, and his head heavy. He sensed danger, and instinctively reached for the hilt of his blade, but felt nothing.

"Relax wanderer. If I wanted to kill you, you wouldn't be here tonight," the stranger spoke calmly. "I am not here, merely to make pleasantries, but I know who you are, and I need your help."

Faregon's mind raced as he tried to process the situation. Who was this mysterious figure, and how did they know who he was? Despite his confusion, Faregon couldn't shake the feeling that he was meant to be here, in this strange place, facing this enigmatic stranger.

"What do you need my help with?" Faregon finally mustered the strength to speak, his voice hoarse from his ordeal in the blizzard.

The stranger leaned in closer, their eyes locked onto his with an intensity matched only by Faregon's own. "There is an evil that threatens to consume this world, an evil that cannot be fought with swords and strength alone," the stranger explained. "I need someone with your unique skills, someone who has faced demons and conquered beasts, to help me stop it."

"Tell me what I must do," Faregon said, his voice unwavering.

"Keen aren't you. You haven't even asked why you need to be doing this." The stranger says stoically.

"Is it relevant? I have walked this path for a long time. I've learnt not to ask questions that don't need to be answered." Faregon responds bluntly.

The stranger smiled, a glimmer of hope shining in their eyes. "We must travel to the heart of the wastelands beyond here, where the shadows grow thickest and the evil is strongest," they said. "Together, we will face the true enemy, and only then will we have a chance to save this God-forsaken world."

"Save? This world is full of blade rats, amoral mercenaries, and thieving wretches. And the world continues to breed the lowest scumbags. There is no redemption to find in this world. We merely exist to survive." Faregon muses. "Tell me stranger, why do you want to save this world?"

"So now it piques your interest." The stranger replies sarcastically. "This world wasn't always the Sin-forge it is now." There was beauty in its common imperfections, but somewhere along the line, someone decided that it would be the rule, and not the exception. To crush the spark of hope in every soul that existed. This dystopian hell-hole was the design of a singular entity, that sought to end the existence of humankind by extinguishing their moral compass and their righteousness. End this entity, and perhaps we bring hope of a better future for our children. Isn't that worth fighting for?"

Faregon nonchalantly nods. Without so much as a reply, he says "Where is my sword?"

The stranger smirks at Faregon, handing him his sword. "Did you not heed the words that I've said? Swords are no match for the creatures that we will be confronted with. If you want to conquer the forces of evil, I'd hope that your wit is sharper than your blade."

Faregon takes his weapon from the stranger, and asks "What is your name?"

"Vaelric."

"Vaelric." Faregon repeats. "Well Vaelric, this sword is no ordinary blade. It was once bestowed upon a mortal destined to right the wrongs of the Gods. It is said to be imbued with the strength of a thousand men, burns with inner light that no darkness can consume, drinks the wrath of the wielder and unleashes it tenfold. No other mortal other than the chosen can bear this holy weapon."

"And you were chosen to be it's wielder?" Vaelric asks, almost bewilderingly.

"No!" Faregon responds with ambivalence.

"Then who?"

"I killed him! Along with the hope of mankind."