The mountains of the Santeem Mid-Range had been unforgiving, the worst imaginable weather hindering each step. It seemed as though the Master himself was trying His hardest to prevent any further pursuit. Such a thought merely spurred the man on, however, utterly convinced he was following the right path.

After days of horrendous travel, the solace of Tempe not only provided brief comfort, but confirmed his theory as well. The pitiful village had been rescued recently from a creature with a firm hold on its inhabitants. A small band of adventurers had saved them and the villagers had every desire to describe their exploits in typical, epic detail.

One was a man of faith, a bearer of the Zenithian mark to stamp out the evil in the valley. Another was an ancient wizard, his spells felling the tyrant's minions with one-fell sweep.

The last of the adventurers, though, was what clinched it. A young woman, fair skinned, short, auburn hair, and amazing battle prowess. The peasants had called her Alena Sanouch. It was too much of a coincidence.

As he left the village, Flail's hunger for the chase increased. He could almost smell the fear in his prey as he stalked them through the country's landscapes. More than that, though, the sweet taste of revenge teasingly tugged on his tongue, its desire merely spurring him further with each passing step.