North

A boat sways slowly, sail turned to where the wind once was, as the air is calm and the water still. Those aboard breathe deep the salt filled air as strange sea birds circle above, not a Minas Alis in sight. It is a small vessel, holding merely one Hunter, and three Exiles though none of those in majority are under illusion that they have any hope in turning this vessel around.
Each exile sports a face in various state of healing from the Exile-Brand, from the young foliad woman with the fire scarred hands and the bandages wrapping her char black skin of her head, to the old troll, who sports a deep stab scar on his shoulder and a brand almost completely healed. The large troll does not even think of taking the hunter, with the glowing circuits painted on the hunter's gnarled form, instead thinking whether the calm waters will support a half day swim back to the sand bank they saw on the way here. They will not, the sharks will get the troll first.
Still, the troll makes the dive into the water, even as the old hunter shouts "Hold", a hand gesturing to the burned woman and the cloaked figure. "We wait for wind." The hunter continues, voice raspy from the briney air, eyes not on his charges, but on the water, noting the deceptive stillness, and the bright splashes of color from the reef beneath. The rocks and coral and old ruins would rip this boat to shreds should the hunter continue without wind, and something feels right about stopping at this precipice, the last escorting the exiles as the hunter is too worn thin and carrying too many sins of his own after all these years not to continue north with the exiles, and see what he has led the damned to after all this time. Especially after the last job.
His gaze is distracted by the smirk of the hooded figure as the hunter looks towards the second charge. "Is something funny, exile?" The old man says, going to push the hood back, but his hand stopped, caught at the wrist. A flash of silvering paint shows on the exile's cheek and wrist and the old man begins to suspect, eye flicking to the woman with the peek of black flesh beneath that bandage before sliding back to the hooded figure.
"Just thinking how easy this journey was. Only one escape attempt before we got to the end of the world." The voice is young, male, with strength of purpose and convictions as the man effortlessly twists the old man's wrist into his arm and behind his back, making it harder for the old man to press any of his circuits for assistance. "Are you here to kill me? Have I dealt with one of your friends in my line of work?" The hunter says, trying to buy for time, so that ankle can meet ankle for a flash of blinding light. But the young man has him there too, slamming a foot into the back of a knee and forcing him to painfully dangle from that held wrist as his legs give way. "Not kill. Just make sure you follow your craving, Senior Hunter. Staying in Levis would be bad for your health. Especially after you killed that child."
The old hunter's head jerks up, looking into the scared but judging gaze of the burned woman, just a random stranger with her own crimes - but a look of disgust under the fear, as she takes steps to the edge of the small boat, even as the wind begins to stirr the edges of the sail.
"Why would a hunter kill a child?" The woman whispers, still loud in the quiet of the boat as its hull creaks under the pressure of the water and its gentle sway. "The hunter thought killing the entire clan of Twinform  might hide that they were stealing their stuff to trade for Northern coin." The hooded figure uses a boot to tap an opaque gourd, the unfamiliar sound of metal on metal echoing all their ears, even as his own burn in shame. Neither exile would understand - he could not start again with nothing. The pack was not supposed to have any children though. He had done his research. But there could be no witnesses either. Not if he wanted to arrange things in time.
The wind blows fully now, and the boat begins forwards, drifting slightly towards the coral with noone at the rudder, and he begins to make a noise, even as the burned hand makes a slap across the old hunter's face. His head was roaring with sound, as blood pulsed in his ears, and tears of regret swarm his eyes. Even as the scream of the woman and the tearing of the boat begins, the hunter cannot stop the ringing, the roaring. Pain rips through his arm as the sound of a hundred coins falling becomes louder than any other sound, bright light blooming over his eyelids.
He opens his eyes to see the hooded 'exile' floating, the bandaged woman struggling to stay afloat in the turbulant reef water, as her legs are buffeted against rock and coral and stone, soon going under as the hunter hangs by the one arm he is held by. Pain screams through him, choking at his throat at the weight of his actions. "The Hand of the Hunters sees you. The hand of the hunters judges you, finds you wanting. Your greed makes you the monsters you were charged to find and stop. I deem you too far gone for another land to have to deal with you. May you find peace in your final moments." And with that the Exile - the hand, drops the Hunter, letting him splash into the water and let him be one with the fate dealt him. And soon water and wind were calm once more.