The snow fell over the mountain as the wind was calm and the sun was high in the sky. A lone figure stood on an out cropping of rock peering over the ledge. About 30ft below covered in snow the ruins of an old civilization looked back at the figure.
He silently made notes in his head as he checked over his gear. His enchanted daggers and bow were fastened in place, while his potions and scrolls were tied to his belt. He shifted in his black leather armor and looked to the sky to see where the sun was positioned. He pulled his hood over his salt and pepper short cropped hair, while his hazel eye scanned the area. The other eye was a white orb with a scar that ran from his temple to his cheek. Covering the scar best it could was a light blue tattoo of intricate lines on the side of his face.
He reached into his pack and brought out a small journal to look over his notes. From the information he gained he learned that below him in the ruins held a den of the undead that were said to be controlled by a necromancer. There was a bounty for the necromancer and because of the figures hatred for the undead and the reward which always helped it didn't take much for him to pursue the bounty.
He looked again to the sky and smiled "Well it's now or never, if I live through this it's a new tale for the ladies and if not it's a joke for my fellow bards to sing of, yes this is my life". He laughed to himself and then sighed, and without thinking jumped off the mountain. Plunging down like an arrow he started shouting words of an ancient language that made his body shimmered and become almost like a ghost. He crashed down upon the wall of a now fallen tower without taking a hint of harm and shimmered back to his original form. He leaped off the wall and started making his way to the opening of the ruins accepting whatever the fates held for him within...
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