It was one evening, cold as it usually was during this time of the year, and when the winds frequently blew the chill over one's skin. Darkness had not yet engulfed the lands, as there was enough light to walk unaided by a lamp. A man in a common black coat, with its hood raised over his head, strolled calmly along the streets of Troll's Bane and eventually out of the town. With a few things packed in his bag, the man ventured into the wilderness where it was harder to see, due to the tall trees and thick shrubs.
"I had sworn to abandon the blade."
He thought, as he paced over the grass and occasional rocks. He finally found a small open space, surrounded by a few trees, and there he settled. He gathered a few logs and branches and set up a camp fire.
"But that must be withdrawn now."
After the fire was well lit and burning, he took out a few wooden bowls from his bag, as well as a bottle containing red dye and some coal stored in a small, tied pouch. He opened the small, square glass bottle and poured some red dye into one bowl. Following that, he held the bowl carefully over the burning flame to heat the dye inside.
"I have my path to follow."
After a few minutes passed, he set the warm bowl aside, grabbed a pinch of coal and dusted it over the heated dye. Finally, he shoved aside some hot ashes with a stick, and used another bowl to gather them and eventually toss them into the mixture of dye and coal, causing a faint sizzling sound.
"I trust none but my own instincts. I judge by my own perception."
He removes the cloth glove of one hand, and with that bare hand, he dipped his fingers into the mixture, grimacing a little at the feel of the heat.
"I swear upon myself..."
He lifted his hand from the bowl.
"That I will find them."
The hand approached his face, a drop of the dye falling from his finger tip.
"I will get them. I swear."
He finally pressed his finger tips against the corner of his forehead, and slid down and across his face until he reached his chin, forming four red markings...