''North-downs''

The sun was rising over the Kingsfell, the birds were singing, and the warm breeze rustled the grass and leaves in the trees bright flowers covered the hills and crops were tall in the farm fields. Outside the farmhouse of one such homestead, a man was going about his chores. He slowly turned the handle of the wheel, hauling up a bucket of water while he appears somewhat frustrated, muttering angrily the whole time. He is dressed well, at least for a farmer.

In a common day of The Ghost, a black-clad raven barked near to him, not too far away from the outskirts of Bree-land. The raven came from the north, appearently, it landed on The Ghost's gauntlet safely. It carried a massage between it's claws, a rugged paper piece it was, signatured by his chief, H. The whole paragraph was written in a different language than common tongue, as well. The Ghost read it carefully, before tossing the paper piece into a bonfire. He spoke with himself silently, listened his senses and deep, yet blank thoughts. He decided to march forth, alone.