The village graveyard was empty, save for one person who was wrapped in a cloak to protect herself from the biting winds. Not much was visable from the cloak's hood, apart from strays of brown hair that the wind was tossing around like a play toy. The figure was gazing upon one of the larger graves on the site, a grave which was marked for 'The Tyr Caravan Family'. It was a large plot, with seven burial plots near the grave. The figure came here once a year to mourn the death of her family and friends, for in truth she had no-one know. The images of her family being massacred by those bandits were still burnt in her mind as if it happened yesterday. She could still remember the smell of blood upon her family's clothes and the screams of pain.

Sometimes, she wondered if she had also died on that night. Sometimes the figure wondered if she had been destroyed by the images, the only thing left being a hollow shell of her former self. No soul, no way of thinking, just a mere sack of flesh wielding a blade... trying to make those who killed her family pay. The bandits that had raided the caravan were long dead, so were the bandit leaders and the people who had paid for the caravan to be raided. But the way always continued on, a one person war against all crime. The victims were evil-doers, and the person waging the way was named Alaine Tyr. She was the only survivor of her family and had been taken to an outpost, trained in the blade, and then left.

Now all she had done for the past... who knows many years, was hunt down those who had made it a habit of harming others. Bandits, Corrupt Officials, Slave drivers... anyone who worked on the wrong side of the law would be slashed by the wrong side of the blade. But it never ended, no matter how many bandits she killed... it was never enough. It would never be enough for her, she would keep going on and on and on until she could do it no more. Alaine turned around, her cloak fluttering in the wind, making her appear to be some sort of mythical hero.

Yeah... as if.

Ferentus walked in the graveyard with his cloak on. The wind whined and tore at his face. Ferentus was here today to see his father who was claimed by the sea. he walked and kneeled to the grave and put his hand against it. It was freezing cold. Ferentus never knew his father and he wish he could of. He had heard many stories when he was young and in his bed with his mom by his side.

"I miss you father" Ferentus said to the stone. He was telling the truth. he missed him dearly, even if he barely knew him. He prayed by the stone then stood up and found a girl near a lot of graves.

"She must of lost her whole family" Ferentus thought to himself. he then said aloud."How did it happen?" ferentus said in a some what loud voice over the wind. He was curios and it seemed she was sad and might of wanted to talk about it.

She came to the grave once a year since the start of her crusade, once a year for an hour. Then she would go off and fight crime again, stopping those who prayed on the innocent. Alaine placed a hand on the longsword that she had carried for so long in her life, her father's longsword. Her father was no fighter, simply a trader... and he had lost his life fighting the bandits that had slaughtered her family for the goods they had. Now she slayed evil with the same sword he used, and she did it with pure pride. Her father would always be with her...
She could still remember the screams of her parents, the screams of her friends... the look on her father's face when he was impaled on the sword. Whenever she got careless, those memories brought her back fighting again.

"How did it happen?" came a voice being carried by the wind.

Alaine inclined her head slightly to the right, seeing a figure to her side. There was a slightly muscular gentleman to her right, looking at her grave. Alaine didn't answer him, instead she returned her gaze to the grave and knew that somewhere there was a crime being commited. So she turned around, cloak swooshing in the wind, and walked down the path and through the iron gates that gave entrance to this place of sorrow and mourning.

((OOC: Feel free to chase me and try to talk to me, this isn't the end just yet.))

Curin ducked his head, and set off at a hurried pace past the graveyard. For this reason, looking no further than his feet away, he bumped solidly into a woman leaving the yard. He staggered back, and caught her elbows before she might fall. Feeling his war-hardened hands bite into her arms.

Seeing her expression, he softened his grasp, and his eyes must have mirrored her tender state, though she was clearly a warrior herself. He immediately wished there was some way he could help.

Following behind her was a proper swordsman, such as was trained in the ancient ways, by the look of him.

Curin looked at them both, trying to discern who knew who, and who could be of help to anyone else.

Ferentus followed the lady. He stayed aout 15 feet behind her. He had lost someone himself but he wanted to know. He usually didnt take no for an answer. He continued to follow her until a man that looked like he had been through much bumbed into her. He caught her by the elbows. Ferentus smiled and walked foward to catch up with the women.

When are you going to tell me?" ferentus said. He wanted to know if all those graves were those were her family or someone close. Maybe even ferentus would help her catch and kill the people who did that.

"I can help you know" He said. He looked at her in hopes she would tell him. Ferentus had a strange feeling in his gut that wanted to know what had happened to the women.

""I sound nosey ferentus thought to himself. Either way he still wanted to know.