Although Morgyn is the chieftain of his Redolian tribe, when his brother goes missing after an impulsive plan goes awry, he drops everything and goes looking for him. When he is unable to locate Toryn (or find his dead body lying in a ravine) he decides to track down the Falaran that Toryn meant to kill, hoping to find some answers, and possibly finish the job that Toryn started if the news is unfavorable. What he least expects to find is his brother following the Redolian heir around like a trained lapdog. Before he can quite wrap his head around the concept, they are embroiled in action and Toryn disappears yet again. What is a good brother to do except head for the nearest watering hole and drown his annoyance in alcohol?
Even though he was far from home, he managed to locate a kindred soul in the form of Knight Commander Montyr, who shares his vision of correcting most of life’s little problems by cracking skulls. It is through his friendship with Montyr that Morgyn begins to realize that even though it is easy to hate someone to which you have affixed a label (Falaran, southerner, foreigner, heathen) it is far more difficult to despise them once you are forced to see the person beneath the label. He grudgingly admits, if only to himself, that there might be more to Brydon Redwing than meets the eye.
And to be honest, the southerners make superior ale.