Neverwinter Forest Keep the knife close while you sleep.

One must wonder how many oaths must be broken before the universe takes notice. So far, many—and little repercussions to follow. The soldier trailed desert sand for a while after his duties ended; he knew he was meant to return to the palace, or that his return was agreed upon in the weeks prior—however, as he marched and shed all sandborn identifiers, he found himself roaming beyond the path.

Who was he without a commander? He once thought the answer sat within Rivenwood. He once thought he could work it out within Mereo's ranks. Or alone, as it happens. The choice to return to Akashingo wasn't much of a choice; given the opportunity, Myrmidon shrugged off the responsibilities and expectations and delved through the Wilds by his own terms.

Maybe he meant to return to the bypass.

Maybe he meant to go until someone stopped him, properly, and finally.

Maybe there was nothing for him anywhere, and so the giant fell in to lazy migrations. Like a bear seeking a hiding place for hibernation — and why not? Hadn't he earned it?

The emberwood of Neverwinter crowded around him before he knew it.