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."