The snow was hard driven and left little trace of his passing, for which he was grateful. Though he had no real destination in mind as he strode through the snowy hills he would rather not have anything able to follow him. He was supposed to be scouting out a safe route through the mountains and bringing aid to the Deldrimor dwarves who called the frozen land their home, as well as the remnants of the Shining Blade who had fled there. As if any place in the peaks could really be called safe. Trolls liked to lurk in the caves, while the fierce avicara patrolled their territory on the open slopes. Not to mention the Stone Summit, who would not tolerate any trespassers in their midst. The only havens were the outposts held by the Deldrimor, and even those were coming under attack from the Stone Summit and their allies. But if there was a passage across the mountains, he would find it. He had tracked his way through the pathless Maguuma Jungle, he could certainly find a trail here.

Kestle shaded his eyes and scanned the hillside, wary of roaming avicara. There were none in evidence, just trees heavy laden with snow. He had that to be thankful for anyway. On his own he had little chance against the fearsome avians. He knew how to shake off pursuers in the woods, but he really didn't want to have to run for it. Often times fleeing one encounter meant running into another, and if he was going to be any kind of useful, he had to know where he was and how to get back quickly. With the wind wiping away the faint impressions his boots left in the hard snow, he'd have to rely solely on his sense of direction to get back to the outpost.

He had been steadily climbing one of the lower hills in the hopes of getting an overview of the area, but the slope ended in a steeply sided valley feeding into the mouth of a cave. The valley curved away and he could not see inside the cavern. There was no way he could climb the walls with the snow as hard packed and slippery as it was. Into the cave or back the way he came were the only options. Despite his instincts telling him trolls were almost certainly around the corner he slowly made his way into the valley. Perhaps the cave had another opening that would let him see more of the terrain. Once in the steeply sided crevice the wind was almost completely cut off. The respite from the biting gusts was enough to keep him heading towards the cave, but as he got closer and no longer had the wind howling in his ears he began to hear sounds of a struggle from the other side of the snow wall. Unmistakably there were the roars of the trolls, and he halted sharply. The sound that got him moving again though was the clear yell of a man in pain.

Kestle ran as best he could on the hardened snow and skidded around the corner into the mouth of the cavern. Easily as large as the biggest building he'd seen and supported by huge ice pillars, the cave was enormous and housed more mountain trolls than he had ever seen in one place before. And standing in a circle of rampaging trolls was a lone man. He was armed with only a staff, the metal of which was nicked and dented from blocking the trolls attacks. His arm was torn and bleeding but he still clung to the staff and brought it around to block and parry the trolls vicious claws. The other hand waved and gestured forming what Kestle realized must be magic. For as outnumbered as he was, the man was holding out remarkably well. Kestle had some small affinity for the elemental magics and recognized the protective ward that sparkled around the lone elementalist. But that one spell could not be enough to hold back so many trolls. What kind of powerful enchantments was this man casting to be so relatively unharmed against so many? Then the ranger saw the dead bodies piled about the spellcaster. Obsidian shards and stone dust clung to the blood sticky bodies lying in the stained snow. Whoever this man was, he had magic enough to defend himself and slay his enemies with the deadly power of the elements.

Without another moment's hesitation Kestle dropped his bag and grabbed his bow off his back. A second to whisper the nearly forgotten words to set his arrows alight and then he was firing into the trolls midst. The wood of the arrows remembered the old language that now only rangers knew and spread fire throughout the cave. It sizzled in the snow, but caught quickly on the trolls' leathery hides. He saw one go down, then another, they were weakened greatly by the spellcaster's power, but they still far outnumbered him. Kestle ran forward, hoping to draw some of the trolls away from the injured man, but they paid him no mind. They knew to bring down the weaker one first. And there was no doubt that the elementalist's strength was waning. His blocks were clumsy, and not always successful at diverting the trolls' claws. Another of Kestle's fire tipped arrows caught one in the chest and it went down, but there were still too many. He looked desperately at the embattled caster, hoping for some powerful offensive spell. Kestle knew if the man fell, he would be next. His arrows could take them down one at a time, but he had no way to survive against them all at once. He nocked another arrow, and as it flew he murmured a prayer to Melandru, hoping that she would help her two devotees live through the day. As he looked up at the geomancer he could see his lips moving as well. Whether he too prayed to his patron goddess, or if it was an incantation to another spell, Kestle could not tell. Before he could ready another arrow, a violent shake of the ground beneath him almost lost him his footing and told him clearly that it was an incantation not a prayer that had passed the elementalist's lips. As he struggled to get his balance, he saw that every troll had been knocked to the snowy floor by the geomancer's invocation. Before any of them could rise and continue the attack a potent aftershock followed the earthquake and killed them where they lay.

Kestle remained motionless for a long moment just staring in wonder at the man who could call up such power seemingly effortlessly. The few weak spells the ranger could manage were nothing beside the awesome fury of the earth this man could invoke. Though, now he just looked weary and exhausted by his long fight. His silvery purple hair was tied back in a tail at the nape of his neck, but long strands had pulled loose during the battle and hung in front of his face. He looked to be a similar build to the tall sturdy ranger, but was now slumped with weariness and injury. His one sleeve was tattered, but the rest of his robes had withstood the battle and looked almost as if they had been woven out of the stone he conjured. And despite his disheveled appearance, his eyes blazed at Kestle with triumph and even a little resentment at having been helped. It was plain that he had not come on those trolls by accident. He had been hunting them as surely as Kestle had been hunting a trail through the snowy hills.

But in an instant the ferocity in the man's eyes turned to pain and exhaustion. Before Kestle could reach him he had fallen to the snow among the bodies of the trolls he had slain. The elementalist was still conscious but that was fading fast. Besides his bloodied arm, there was red spreading from a deep wound in his side that the ranger had not seen while they were fighting. Kestle fumbled with the pouch at his belt for his bottle of troll unguent. As far as the ranger was concerned the only thing the beasts were good for was producing such a potent healing elixir. And by the number of troll bodies sprawled around them he had no fear of using it up on the mage, he could always collect more from the slain trolls of the cave.

"I didn't know they could do that…" The man's voice came out as barely more than a whisper, but it still startled the ranger into looking at his face instead of tending his wound. He was just as surprised to see how young a face it actually was. In the heat of battle the age of the spellcaster had not been something he considered. Now the fierce burning eyes were glazed by pain and weakness, and the furrowed brow was smoothed as the man lost consciousness. The geomancer looked to be the same age as Kestle, who was considered young compared to the prince he had followed through the northern mountains. He also looked like a man of Ascalon. Could he have been among those that followed the prince as well?

Without wasting anymore time Kestle patched up the young mage's wounds as best he knew how. The healing unguent helped, but the bottle was almost empty by the time he was done. Other than the wound in his side, none of his other injuries were too serious, but they were many. The elementalist had been scratched and scored in numerous places by the trolls' claws. His armor had absorbed most of the damage, but not all. That done, the ranger left the cave in search of firewood. He couldn't leave the other man there unconscious as he was, and if they were going to stay the night in the cave, they would need fire. The hills were heavily forested so it didn't take long to find an armful of dry wood. Kestle knew he would have to go out again for more before the night was done, but it would do for starters.

Once he had it all in a pile he again spoke the few words needed to set the wood aflame. There were definite advantages to coming from a large family of mostly rangers. While he was expected to conform to their mold, he was also taught all the old family secrets that few now remembered. The languages that trees and animals knew were among the things passed down to him from his family. He was still glad he had left his village when he had, though. He was something of an odd one out there. Everything, from his reddish hair to his ability to cast small elemental spells was so different from everyone else. Old women in the village had often called him a changeling child, joking that he must have been switched at birth since he was so strange to them.

What would they think of this man? He thought as he looked at the sleeping mage. His oddly colored hair would gather him strange stares the instant he entered the village. Not to mention his choice in clothing. His armor was a shade darker purple than his hair and had far more ornamentation than the basic leather Kestle remembered people in his village wearing. And as soon as they realized he was a powerful spell caster he would be even more ostracized than Kestle had been. The ranger's hometown was in all ways a close knit community. It was far back in the Ascalon foothills so it was isolated from just about everywhere else. Everyone in the town was related or close to it. Everyone knew everyone else's business and no one was any different. Except him. He was very glad he had gotten away when he had.

The night passed in peace and quiet. Kestle stayed awake for a time watching the other man and refilling his bottle of unguent from the bodies of the slain trolls. Once he heard the far off howling of a snow wolf, but there was no other noise to disturb the night. The wolf's cry made him lonesome for his friend and companion, Kusrune. The dune lizard had been his comrade ever since Kestle had left the green hills of Kryta for the thick tangle that was the Maguuma Jungle. But dune lizards were not fond of cold and snow, so Kusrune was vacationing on the sunny beaches of Kryta, waiting for Kestle to return. As soon as he had helped the dwarves with their struggles, he was going to go back and do some journeying with his lizard companion again.

Kestle still hadn't figured out quite what to do with himself yet. At first it had seemed easy, leave home, join the Ascalon army, fight the charr, live happily ever after. Now that most of Ascalon wasn't there anymore, things weren't so clear cut. He had helped his people and his prince on their trek to reach safety in Kryta. He had fought his share of hopeless battles in the ruins of Ascalon, he had been dragged into Kryta's civil strife as well as the Dwarves' turf war. He had even battled his way into ascension in order to fight the unseen gods of the White Mantle. If the vizier was to be believed they were the ones to start all the trouble. And through it all, always it seemed as if he was just going to keep wandering, always helping whoever asked for aid, and never really finding a purpose to it all. Was that his purpose? Destined to forever be the wandering do-gooder? How many times had he told himself that when it was all over he'd go home again? But it was never over, he was always wandering further and finding more that needed to be done and no one willing to do it but himself. His home was still there, he had visited it after the searing. He had been so scared that all he would find would be ash and death, but it had been there as it always had been. The foothills hadn't been hit as hard by the charr magic. The villagers had picked up the pieces, rebuilt what was broken, and carried on as before. And Kestle had left, just as he had the first time. It was his home, but he could never be content there.

When the ranger came out of his thoughts the fire had burned down to glowing embers. The air was cold, but the cave sheltered them from the wind and blowing snow. Before he let himself sleep, Kestle made another trip outside for firewood. Once he had a good blaze going again he wrapped himself in his cloak and slept.

The dawn came clear and bright. The sun's light reached even into the cave as filtered and slanting rays. Kestle was surprised to hear the crackling of his fire. It should have long since burned out. But when the ranger sat up and dusted the snow off his cloak he saw the elementalist he had helped adding another branch to the merry blaze. His wounds had evidently healed enough for him to be up and about. Not for the first nor the last time Kestle was glad he always kept a supply of troll unguent with him.

The man must have heard him stir, for the mage turned abruptly and glanced at Kestle with something akin to distrust. Before Kestle could wonder at that, the other man turned from the fire and turned to a pile of oddments near him. There were various weapons, scraps of armor and not a few gold coins. No doubt the elementalist had gotten it from the bodies of the slain trolls. Kestle had never fully understood why so many creatures, including humans, carried around so much stuff they had grabbed from other critters.

Kestle reached into his own pack, that was thankfully devoid of any extraneous junk, and dug out a waterskin. He was just thinking of the path he was supposed to be finding when a dull thump startled him out of his thoughts. Turning to find the source of the noise he saw the elementalist's feet beside him and looked up to see an unreadable expression on the other man's face. Then Kestle noticed the pile of armor scraps and coins by the mage's boots. Confused he looked back at the man's eyes with a question on his face.

"Your share." The geomancer said shortly. "I figured you'd want to travel light so I put more of the coins in your stack."

Kestle just stared at him blankly for a moment. He had been traveling alone for so long he had forgotten it was an unwritten rule of journeying that you share the loot. He nodded gratefully and pulled the pile closer to him so he could stow it away. He had to admit he wasn't sure what to think of the mage. After the battle he had seemed to resent having been helped, yet now he was sharing the loot and even considering that the ranger might not want to carry three raven staves and an axe. He certainly didn't understand why the elementalist would, except that the miscellany could be sold in town. A few loud cracks later and Kestle had to amend his thoughts. The wood from the staves could be sold in town, as none of the three staves were whole any longer. Watching the mage stuff the planks of wood into his pack Kestle began to wonder just who this man was. By his appearance and voice he was of Ascalon, had he meandered a similar path? Had he too trekked through Kryta, the jungle and the desert? Since the searing, happening upon someone from home was rare. Many stayed to fight hopelessly against the charr, and still more settled in Kryta. Only the wanderers like Kestle wound up in the far reaches of Tyria.

"I'm Kestle." The ranger started awkwardly, traveling alone hampered one's social skills. "What's your name?"

"Keinen." The mage hardly looked up from his packing away of his loot.

"Are you from Ascalon too?"

"Yes."

"I thought so! Did you come over the pass with Prince Rurik?"

"I was with him when he fell." Keinen's voice was flat.

"I came just after." Kestle had been with a second train of refugees. The path had been mostly cleared for them, but that really didn't mean much in the wilderness. Just then the elementalist grabbed up his pack and started for the cave mouth. "Where are you headed?"

"Back to the forge. I need the money from this stuff to buy supplies before I can head out again."

"So you were fighting those trolls to pay for your trip."

"Thanks for the help." And with that he was walking away.

Kestle stared at the remains of the fire for a moment longer then kicked snow over the coals and strode out the door after the mage. It wasn't hard to catch up, the other man was loaded down with loot from the cave and Kestle was used to loping along at a brisk pace.

"Mind if I join you?"

Keinen just shrugged. "Another target for the avicara to shoot at."

Kestle took that as acceptance and slowed to a walk beside the elementalist. The man didn't seem in a mood to talk so Kestle let the silence stretch as they trekked. Their only encounter on the way to Droknar's Forge was with a lone Pinesoul. Between Kestle's fire tipped arrows and a small but potent stone missile from Keinen, the moving tree was quickly dispatched. Thinking they made a pretty good team Kestle decided he'd ask the elementalist if he wanted to join forces for a while once they reached the dwarf city. If Keinen too was a lone wanderer perhaps they could find their purpose together, or at the very least stave off the loneliness for a time.

As usual the forge was filled with the dwarves who called it their home and the few humans who had ventured so far into the mountains. Some humans did actually live in the frigid peaks, siding with the dwarves in their war, or simply trying to make a living in the harsh climate. Keinen immediately peeled off towards the merchant row to sell his loot most likely. Kestle considered following, but had another stop to make first. A quick glance found him Captain Bronzebeard in the crafter's corner. Kestle glanced admiringly at the dwarf blacksmith's handiwork as he made his way to the captain. Dwarf craftsmanship was some of the best in Tyria, he just wished he could afford some of it. Bronzebeard saw the ranger coming and broke off his conversation with the armor smith to hail Kestle.

"Ho, lad! Did you find Korg?"

"Aye," Kestle had tracked that far through the snow at least before coming across Keinen. "He pointed me in the direction of the Ice Caves of Sorrow. Said that was where the Shining Blade leader was being held, and possibly more news about that seer could be found there too. Said he sent Rornak on ahead to scout it out. I'd have gone that way myself, but I ran into some other trouble and decided to come back here."

"The dwarves thank you for your report, ranger." The gruff dwarf smiled, though through his thick beard it looked more like a grimace. "We need about a hundred more like you, but we'll take what we can get."

Kestle bowed his head humbly and made to leave.

"If you do any more scouting, we need all the news we can get!"

"I'll remember!" Kestle called back as he made his way towards the merchants to get rid of the various armor pieces that were his share of the troll's loot. Once all the scraps of metal and leather had been traded for hard gold coin Kestle set out to get rid of that weight in his pack as well. For standing off in the far corner of the dwarf city, and looking rather out of place there, was the Xunlai Agent. Kestle couldn't fathom how those dedicated professionals managed to be absolutely everywhere an adventurer might travel, but there they always were. A quick deposit, a few notes made in the record books the agent kept, and Kestle's account was fuller and his pack lighter. If he kept saving he might yet one day be able to afford one of the beautiful dwarf-made long bows he saw hanging tantalizingly beside the shop of the weapon smith. His money stash was still recovering from the purchase of dwarf–made armor when he'd first arrived at the forge. But the expense had been worth it. The handcrafted armor had saved his skin on a number of occasions.

With his business complete he had only to find Keinen again. The ranger hadn't thought the elementalist would be hard to spot with his oddly purple hair and clothing. Not to mention the fact that the man was, as Kestle was, taller than fully two thirds of the population of the forge by at least two feet. At last he saw the geomancer, no longer in the merchant's row, but rather haggling with the armorer about the cost of fixing the sleeve of his coat. Kestle hung back a discreet distance until he could see that the two had come to some agreement. Then the armor smith beckoned the elementalist to come into the shop. Kestle decided to browse the nearby shops while he waited. He had no idea how long a repair job on a fancy coat like Keinen's was going to take, but for the chance of traveling with a fellow Ascalon wanderer, he'd wait all day.

He really had been lonelier than he realized. All the time he had traveled alone he had told himself that he was better off that way. He had less people to worry about. It was just him and Kusrune and they needed no other. But he had truly missed the company and camaraderie of traveling with fellows as he used to do. He really was going to have to go back to Kryta soon and wander with Kusrune again. He missed the lizard's hearty, if wordless, company.

Briefly he wondered what his lizard companion would think of the cold and quiet geomancer, then that path of thought was halted by the sight of one of the most beautifully crafted recurve bows the ranger had ever laid eyes on. It was definitely well out of his price range, but ogling was free. Soon the owner of the weapon shop came and asked if Kestle was interested in the bow, and of course he had to say no. But that didn't stop the ranger from starting up a discussion of the finer points of bow construction and the advantages and drawbacks of the different bow types the merchant had to offer. So involved was he in the topic of bows and how to best use his modest money stash to improve his own weapon, that Kestle nearly missed seeing Keinen emerge from the armorer's shop. Reluctantly breaking away from the weapon dealer, Kestle headed quickly to the mage's side before he could get out of sight.

"Where are you planning on heading to now?"

The elementalist didn't look either dismayed or surprised to see Kestle standing before him again. In fact his face was rather blank, except for the perpetual look of slight anger that Kestle was beginning to think was the geomancer's natural expression. "Bronzebeard asked if I would follow his scouts to the Ice Caves. Since he's helping the Shining Blade while his people are in the middle of their own war, it seems the least I can do to help."

"I know what you mean. I owe the Shining Blade too. I was headed that way before I ran into you."

"While I'm more than willing to help those who've helped me I was actually thinking more of finding this mysterious seer. If he or she can do what the rumors say than that task will be more important in fighting the real opponents."

"The unseen ones." Kestle wasn't sure what to think of the gods of the White Mantle. Set aside the fact that he had been accepted by, and helped the Mantle before being shown what they really were, the thought of fighting things that were worshipped as gods made him a little uneasy. But if they were the ones who had turned beautiful Kryta, the wildly fascinating jungle, and the icily majestic mountains into war zones, then fight he would. Kryta had become a place of peace for him and his people. Maguuma was where he had learned the real truth behind the Mantle and gained the friendship and help of the Shining Blade. And the mountains too had become a sort of temporary home for him with the kindness the dwarves had shown him and the other wanderers.

"Yes, the unseen ones." Keinen showed no sign of being upset by the thought of fighting deities. "There is something about them and the Mantle that doesn't add up. I also have reason to dislike any Stone Summit on sight."

Kestle suddenly remembered what Keinen had said earlier about seeing Prince Rurik fall in the northern mountains. The prince had been slain by Dagnar Stonepate, the leader of the Stone Summit. Kestle had met the prince back when he had been training as a ranger for the Ascalon army. Even coming later over the mountain pass as he had, hearing of the prince's fall had been a hard blow.

"Are you intending to make this a solo mission to save the world from the unseen ones and the Stone Summit, or would you like some company?"

Keinen didn't appear to be reacting to the hint of humor in Kestle's request, and the ranger began to be worried that he'd made too light of it in his attempt to be disarming. He really hadn't had much practice talking to people lately. Then one corner of the mage's mouth twitched slightly into a grudging ghost of a smile.

"Bronzebeard did say you had scouted that way already, and you are another target for them to shoot at."