Cynreade

The grass swayed with the breeze that passed over the once bustling village. Who's roads once saw a great many travelers and adventurers alike. Valiant knights of an ancient order, sepretarians and keepers of knowledge from generations long ago. A behind a small copse of trees, a sacred place had been laid out for those who had fallen in its service, so that their memory may never be forgotten. Twenty headstones rested before the Cynraede, the cloth tied over his eyes and his staff laid across his lap. 

The fresh air filled the hunters nostrils, air he had not tasted in quite some time that had once been so familiar. His tattered cloak wrapped around his slender figure, the brooch upon his breast shining like freshly polished silver. He paused for but a moment, running his fingers across the worn, weathered wooden sign that simply read ‘Arrowhaven’.