No Back Stabbing

The taiga of Polar Sound was alive with the arrival of spring. The crisp breeze carried the familiar scent of pine and a lingering chill from the harsh winter that had just passed. Aresenn stood at the edge of the clearing, perched atop a weathered slab of slate. He took in a deep breath, savoring the freshness of the air as he prepared to call out to those who lingered nearby. The sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows over the valley below. It was a peaceful scene, but Aresenn knew it wouldn't last for long. It simply wasn't going to be the nature of this beast. His voice reverberated across the landscape, a summons to those inclined for combat. Not that he was the authority on arranging a group of brawlers. But now that they were a unit, they needed to be familiar with one another capable of working on the same wavelength.

As the echoes of his voice faded, the surrounding territory was left in a silence that was soon filled with the whispers of the wind brushing against the rocky walls. Aresenn casually scanned the horizon, as he waited, a patient sentinel, for the others to manifest before him.

"Aresenn Praetor"