It was raining, it was heavy or light rain. It was just rain, rain that was pleasant for a while but after six hours of it, it got to be a nuisance. An old man was walking through it, his cloak was soaked and his muttering grew louder as he approached the large school he had heard so much of. The massive stoe building was made from magic, that much was easy to tell. The smell told him so, it was putrid in his opinion.

The old man entered the building slowly, his hand on a ancient long sword. He didn't trust magic nor magic users. Even Alchemists gave him the shivvers, but he got along with them good enough, even if he didn't trust them. Moving slowly through the rain into the courtyard, the old man looked around for somewhere to stop the night, he was tired and sick of camping. His journey up until the rain had been good fun, he had taught some bandits never to attack a Knight or an old man and he had found out some useful information, a few people at the Guardian school had seen Ezekiel there a couple of times. A couple of the names didn't ring any bells. A few were done right strange to him. Like "Ryant" or "Farian", who knew who they were.

Sighing gently to himself, he ducked under the door way and slide down to the ground, exhausted. He fell asleep instantly.

His sleep had been quite good, he didn't get soaked by the rain and it had cleared up. His luck was looking up as he spotted three horses, one a huge war horse, tethered to a post. The looked fresh and would be handy, but it was against his codeof honour to steal such a fine animal. Running his hands along the flanks of the huge War horse, the old man gain the trust of the war horse quickly. The old man would repay those who owned the powerful horse, but first he needed to get to Granseal quickly.

The old man rode the horse hard, his thoughts wandered as he rode along the dusty road. I wonder how the King is? It's been a while since I've seen the youngster, I still remember when he tried to lift a blade and failed. At least he knows what he's capable of. Granseal was pretty, it better still be pretty. Slowly the old man traveled toward the city of Kings, his shield and sword bounced on the flanks of the horse gently, keeping it moving.