Across the roads and wilderness of East Angliard travels a man known as Eäolir, a professional monster hunter, tracker, swordsman, alchemist, and Voräkin — a sellsword whose trade takes him wherever ordinary steel, courage, and good intentions have proven insufficient. There is little of the romantic hero about him. Eäolir is a man shaped by the road. Long journeys beneath rain and cold have weathered his face, while years spent hunting creatures beyond the safety of walls have taught him vigilance above comfort. His dark brown hair falls long around a mature, bearded countenance, and his powerful frame bears the unmistakable character of someone accustomed not merely to battle, but to surviving it.

Yet the old languages have survived many things: Kingdoms, wars, migrations, and the passing of ages. Their words occasionally carry meanings long after those who first spoke them have disappeared. And so, a man who does not believe in destiny walks beneath a name proclaiming that he has one. Whether the ancient tongue speaks true — or whether Eäolir will ultimately prove himself correct and write his own fate — remains a tale unfinished. His road has only begun; the pilgrimage begins with him!