Vellk presses the warm mug of tea into her hands, feeling sorry for her plight.  “Come now good lady.  You’re among friends now, let me help you to the Inn.  I’ll get you settled in a room.”  His deep voice is surprisingly compassionate for all that he is a fierce warrior and looks the part.

“We shall take care of it, please, come into the inn and rest.” Rowan quickly tells the innkeeper to get the woman and child some warm food and drink, and to stable her mules. She drops enough coin to cover the cost on the counter.

“Don’t you have a worry now Rowan.”  Madame Freia said, wrapping a shawl around the woman and putting a sweet spring carrot in the little one’s hand.  “We’ll take good care of her, your coin and the warriors will keep her set up here for a day or two.”

Millivent looked between Vellk and Rowan and burst into tears again, leaning against the Halfling Innkeeper and soaking her shoulder with tears of relief and gratitude.  The toddler clinging to her skirts managed to stuff the end of the carrot in his mouth and is gumming it happily, looking up at Vellk with wide, serious eyes.

“We must go see to her farm, for they are in trouble. Please take care of her, and let her rest in our room! Thank you!!!” And she rushes out to the stable, grabs Bo from his stable, mounts him bareback, and urges him on, knowing that his quicker pace will allow her to make up the time she lost getting the woman inside.

Lanaver waves away the guards, “Thanks fellas, we got it from here. We’ll assist the folk of the realm so you can go back to counting clouds or whatever pressing chores you have after your breakfast.”

The guards scowl at him, but evidently are too lazy to rise to the insult.  “Come on gents, the damn wagon’s moved so we can get back to our rounds.”  Their head officer says, and they make their way back down the street, ignoring the angry looks many of the townsfolk give them.

“Worthless tin cans,” Lanaver mutters under his breath, and saunters back into the Inn, getting his gear together and donning his leather armor.

Rowan is exiting the stable with her donkey with a wild expression on her face.  “We must hurry Lanaver!”  She exclaims, preparing to leap onto the animal’s back.

“A right and proper rescue, from goblins no less! You can’t ask for much better way to start an early morning now can ya?” He winks at Rowan, and then at her donkey.  “Ya might want to get a saddle on that fellow though, and maybe get your armor on.  An extra couple of minutes isn’t going to make much of a difference to the woman, but it might be the difference between surviving and dying for you to be properly equipped.”

Vellk, grabs his gear and strides out of the Inn’s front door. Goblins attacking a farm hits a little too close to home. A worry for his own family crosses his mind has he glimpses a familiar horse and rider that appear farther away than they are.  Shaking his head, he tosses Rowan’s armor and traveling cloak at her.

“Thought you might need these.”  He says with a grin.  “I want to help as badly as you do.”

“Every great adventure starts somewhere, am I right?”  Lanaver asks through a mouthful of biscuit, stuffing the last of his abandoned breakfast into his mouth.

Rowan dons her leathers and smiles at the stable boy who has brought the saddle for her spotted donkey.  The beast is eager, seeming excited to finally get out of the stable. Sebastian exits the Inn, his hair in disarray and sleep in his eyes, but he has his gear and seems alert in spite of being roused from his bed.

“What’s the trouble?  Mistress Freia brought a woman nearly in hysterics up the stairs, woke me up she said something about her family?  The innkeeper is still trying to get her to stay in the room.”  Sebastian shrugs, “She told me you all were heading out so I came as quickly as I could.”

“She told us Goblins took her family.” Rowan says to Sebastian, . “I’ve heard of them, but we didn’t have them back home. Are they very dangerous?” And she looks from one to the others, fierce determination on her face.

“They’re small and mean, but I’ve a feeling you’re a might bit meaner Rowan,” Lanaver chuckles.

“We simply MUST save them. It’s not FAIR!”  She thumps her tiny fist against her thigh for emphasis.  Rowan checks her gear, the long lacquered tubes of her war pipes are bound up behind Bo’s saddle, tied within easy reach.  

“And you’re right, it’s not fair… We didn’t even talk price, nine Hells you two practically paid HER to save her family. She was in no position to haggle, we would have asked for anything really.”  Lanaver rolls his eyes sarcastically.

Rowan looks to Lanaver, eyes wide with surprise and shock. “And what would she pay us with? She’s lost everything. Everything but one of her wee ones. No. We must simply help her, and if payment should come our way, so be it. If not, well, would you not want someone to help you if you were lost, alone, and bereft?”

He stutter steps in surprise, stymied by her outburst.  “I-I-I mean an I.O.U. Is really just letters and letters make up words then I guess the words ‘Thank you’ are technically worth more…”

She looks sadly at him, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I cannot even imagine what she must be feeling. It is too much. I care not for payment if an innocent is in such terrible need.” And she turns her head, trying to hide her tears, as she leans forward to hug Bo’s neck.

“It was just a joke,” he desperately fumbles for the proper words.  “Sorry… I don’t know what it’s like to lose a family member… I’ve never had one to lose.”

Rowan raises her tear-stained face to Lanaver and says quietly, “No family? None at all? Oh, you poor, dear man!” She steps to Lanaver’s side and looks up at him. “No one should be without family, Lanaver, no one. They are annoying and fretful and wonderful all at the same time, and sometimes you wish they were gone, but then you lay down at night and know that you are loved and cherished. Someone to play with, and learn from, and that they’ll always care.

“You and I have much in common, and I like you. I will be your family. Lean down please.” She gives him a light kiss on his cheek. “There. You’re now my brother.” She looks solemn for a brief moment, and then her sunny disposition comes back to the fore. “Gods know we have more in common than me and Raun, and you’re ever so much smarter!” She pats his hand and laughs. “It’s good to have another brother.”

“A brother huh? I could get used to that,” Lanaver blushes slightly from her kind words and gestures.

“Yes, Goblins are dangerous but it’s more due to their numbers than their prowess.”  Sebastian interjects, trying to bypass the awkwardness.  “They like to overwhelm enemies in a swarm or else send arrows flying from concealment.  Unless they’re cornered the ones I’ve fought tend to run when the battle isn’t overwhelmingly in their favor.”

The clatter of a wagon announces Millivent’s arrival. “I won’t stay away while my man and my babies are in danger.”  She says, waving away the protest she knows is on the tip of everyone’s tongue. “I’m safer with you lot on the road then alone in Starvale by myself.  You saw what those ruffian Starshield guards were like.  If you hadn’t come along I’d like as not be in jail for blocking the road or sommat.”

Tuskor stops on the doorstep of the inn, twigs and grass tangled in his beard and hair.  He had been performing some morning meditation in a small patch of short trees that had once been a vacant lot and now was billed as a city park.  Whether it was done for civic enhancement or simply out of the lack of desire to use if for anything else was up for debate, but the Dwarf liked having some connection to nature in the city.

He joined his companions, climbing aboard the wagon after greeting the mules and they set off for Millivent’s farm.  The trip took a little over an hour and passed mostly in nervous silence.  The party asked few questions once it became clear that she had really already communicated what she knew.  She didn’t know how many goblins there were, other than that it looked like there were too many to count.

“My husband Haldred, our daughters Alleena and Kithian, our sons Quayle and Volland, and six hired hands were at the farm when the attack took place.”  She says, tears welling up in her eyes again, “Now they’re all missing.”

“Missing is better than dead but we must be swift.”  Lanaver said, looking about at the profusion of tracks on the swampy ground.

“From the look of these trails I would estimate that about a dozen prisoners were dragged away from here.”  He says, after a quick inspection.  “The prints in the mud show that more than a dozen goblin-sized creatures passed through here today.  I’m fairly certain at least one larger-sized creature also walked with the goblins, although I haven’t seen this kind of tracks before.”

“I wonder what the larger one is, Hobgoblin, Bugbear…what do you all think?” he asks as he rises from his inspection.  “More than a dozen little green bastards and something bigger than any of us…”

Tuskor has been looking at the tracks too, but not in the detached, analytical way Lanaver has been.  The Dwarf crawls from place to place, sniffing and even tasting some of the mud.  He doesn’t seem to notice the wet or muck, totally intent and focused on his investigation.  Rising from the farmyard, he spits sideways with an expression of distaste on his face.

“Bugbear, or I’m a bearded gnome.”  

Hajima opens his wooden case and pulls out the heavy crossbow, locking the arms into position and loading the first deadly bolt. From his pack, he removes a pair of quivers bristling with crossbow bolts. Strapping the quivers onto his thighs in easy reach and checking the rapier in his sheath, Hajima then looks grimly at the group.

“Whether they have a new big brother or not, those little vermin will soon be taught the error of their ways. No farmstead will be in danger while we are here to stop them, especially if the local guard are unwilling to protect these civilians. Let’s rescue the farmers without delay. If we hurry, we may be able to catch the goblins before an ill fate befalls their captives.” With that, he moves swiftly to follow the tracks with Lanaver, always scanning his surroundings for ambush or further signs of the victims.

At an hour past midnight, they all sit around the fireplace, warming their outsides with the flames and their insides with mulled wine.  After another hour goes by, the mysterious harper appears in the Boiling Kettle.  He carefully takes the dragon egg, unwrapping it with anticipation in his eyes.  He sighs in disgust and the eager look on his face turns sour.

“Alas, the egg is a fake. A trap no less, designed to be thrown, exploding in a blinding light when it smashes on the ground.”  He runs his fingers through his gray hair, “Perhaps a it was intended to be a safeguard for the elven seller should her deception go ill.”

Lanaver raised an eyebrow, either in interest or skepticism.  “Could prove helpful in the future, may we keep it?”

He pauses, pulling six small sacks that clink with the welcome sound of gold and silver.  He also produces a glass bottle the size of an apple and says, “It looks as if your party could use some rest and healing.  For completing the mission to the letter and adapting to the changed circumstances I gift you this potion, also.  The pin you planted will help us track the smugglers.”

He sets the potion on the table and gives Lanaver a circumspect look. “As for the egg, I should like to take it to aid my organization, unless I could be persuaded otherwise.  Although I must warn you, we have seen an increased interest in all things related to dragons. We have also heard of more dragon sightings in the region of the Drakenmore Sea and beyond. Keep your eyes and ears open for further information on dragons. It might save your life. If you take this egg, you will surely be pursued by the Welcomers or even the cult itself!”

Rowan listens carefully to the conversation, and is visibly disappointed when told that the egg is fake. “I think that the Weavers should keep the egg. They know far more than we do about what is going on, and can make better use of it. If we’re to put ourselves in danger, let it be for something of more use than a fake egg.”

She shrugs, fatigue and disappointment momentarily dulling her usual enthusiasm. She looks earnestly, and a little fiercely at the Weaver. “I dearly hope the pin yields valuable information. Several of my friends nearly died this night.” Taking a deep breath, and drawing herself up to her full 2′ 10″ height, she continues in a softer tone.  “However, clearly much is wrong in this place, and I for one will do my best to help make it right.”

Pausing thoughtfully, she inclines her head towards him. “How might we contact you if we learn more of dragons or other harm from this matter?” And, stifling a yawn, she listens carefully to the answer, and to anything her companions have to say.

The Weaver turns to Rowan and says, “There are Weavers here in Starvale, but it would be best if I did not give you the means to find them lest you are tailed or their position falls into the wrong hands. Rest assured, good Halfling, you are not far from the Weavers.”

As he says this, Lanaver notices the subtle motion of his fingers as he signs in Weaver hand cant “Continue your mission, agent.”

“Your organization sounds as though it seems to maintain balance, my affiliation is to my clan, but should you have any tasks I can help with, I would do so.”  With that Tuskor retires to his room, seeing nothing of interest in the pile on the table.

Hajima is definitely interested in admission to the Weavers. He misses the action of being part of a larger organization, especially if he can have more assignments like this one. He smiles and seems more cheerful than earlier in the night. “Well, the egg was false, but we handled ourselves well and succeeded within mission parameters. We even got a chance to clean up the streets a little and rid this city of a few parasites. All in all, it was a job well done.”

The Weaver turns back to Rowan and says, “You have the makings of a fine bard and a fine agent. I’m sure the Weavers would be happy to have you.  And you Hajima, your skills could be put to use with the Weavers. Both of you think on it a week. I shall return and find you then.” With that he stands, his dark cloak swirling around him and strides through the door into the night.

Hajima then looks down at the pile of weapons and other items looted from the ambushers. “Not much here that interests me except these crossbow bolts. If nobody has any use for the heavies then I’ll take those too and strip them down for spare parts.” He taps a finger to the large crossbow that is folded once more and returned to the long wooden case at his feet.

“Anything else in this loot is well earned and should go to the rest of you for such daring work tonight. We made a good team for having just met.” Hajima smiles again, an expression that doesn’t reach his eyes, and then takes up the bolts and heavy crossbows.

Lanaver grabs a dagger from the pile, checking the balance with an expression of surprised approval. “You can never have too many knives, am I right?” he hesitates, “Sorry I didn’t get any of your names,” he quips while tumbling the blade across his fingers and turning his attention to Rowan.  “You seem the friendliest of the bunch, what do you call yourself little one?”

The talk continues and the fire burns low.  Outside, the city slumbers.  Knives flash in the moonlight and gold changes hands.  Whispers and rumors spread about dark deeds and shady dealings.

–

A few days of rest have served the party well.  As they rested and recovered, they realized that their wildly different abilities and styles of fighting actually blended quite well together as a team.  Additionally, although their personalities varied, it seemed as though none of them clashed.  Maybe it was their first battle that forged them together, or perhaps there was something else at work, but they found things to like about one another outside of fighting skills.

Lanaver’s wit was amusing, although often off color or caustic, and kept them smiling.  Tuskor’s silent stolidness was a comfort after the horrors of fighting in the dark.  Rowan’s music is wonderful to listen to, even when she isn’t infusing it with her arcane powers and her cheery demeanor lightens their moods.  Vellk’s sturdy presence was reassuring and Hajima’s air of focused menace made them all glad he was on their side.  Sebastian is always ready to buy a round of drinks or spin a tale of his days in the service.

This morning Briez, one of Madame Freia’s five daughters, is serving a delightful breakfast of freshly made wild berry jam on warm biscuits, scrambled eggs and bacon. Madame Freone’s famous Halfling tea and cool river water in clay pitchers are welcome additions to the meal, and perhaps much needed after the ale and wine-flowing of last night. The dawn sunlight is slowly creeping over the waking town of Starvale and creeps through the rooms of the Boiling Kettle.

“My sisters and I picked the berries ourselves,” says the young Halfling woman, sweeping her long black hair out of her face. “Some say the wild berries in this area are-” Before Briez can finish her thought, shrieking erupts from the street outside the Boiling Kettle. While the words are mostly unintelligible, but  “help” and “family” are loud and distinct.

Rowan is smiling up at Briez, liking her enthusiasm, and very much enjoying the homey breakfast, when the shrieking causes her to start. She leaps to her feet, dropping her biscuit onto her plate, and runs outside to see what the matter is.

Vellk hearing the panicked words and thinking of his own family jumps and heads for the door, covering the distance in three quick strides.

Lanaver hurries after them, “There better be a grand reason my breakfast is getting cold.” he scowls, surreptitiously checking the various daggers he has hidden about his person.

The disturbance is a half block away, townsfolk are rushing to assist a middle-aged human woman. She has collapsed in the middle of the road, crying hysterically, clutching an infant boy in her arms.  Two weary mules are harnessed a small wagon, obviously belonging to the distraught woman, which is now holding up the traffic of the morning thoroughfare.  A trio of Starshield Guards are standing nearby, trying to get her to move out of the way by helpfully poking her with the butts of their polearms.

Vellk looks around to see if he notices any one running away, or obviously looking suspicious.  Lanaver, catching on to what the big warrior is doing, fans out across the street to cover more ground.  When no immediate threat can be seen, Vellk crosses his arms over his chest, allowing his right hand to rest on the handle of his axe.  The slim rogue lounges against a shop wall, his stance deceptively relaxed, but his hand is near a dagger’s hilt.

Rowan squats down to examine the boy and the woman, speaking soft words of comfort. “What is it good woman?  Are either of you injured?  There now, you’re safe.”

Seeing that there isn’t any need to stand guard, Vellk goes back to The Boiling Kettle to get a mug of warm tea for the woman.  If she had been dealing with warriors of some kind, his presence might make the trauma harder to overcome.

Although worn, weary and obviously distraught, there are no signs of wounds on the woman or child. After Rowan’s soft words of comfort the woman starts to speak. Her name is Millivent Moss. Her family farms peat from a bog about an hour from Starvale. Earlier this morning her husband and children, as well as a few hired hands, were attacked by goblins.

She was able to leap onto a wagon and escape with her youngest child Bo, still an infant. She drove away quickly, turning just long enough to see goblins dragging people away to the east. It looks like they were still alive, perhaps being taken captive.

She beseeches you, “Please! Someone to come to my family’s aid, rescue them if possible” As she finishes relaying information, two Starshield guards, in black livery and scale mail, wielding halberds, approach. At this time, Vellk emerges from the Boiling Kettle and attempts to soothe the woman, with warm tea.

The Starshield guards begin ordering people to stop blocking traffic on the street. When Millivent tells them her story, they roll their eyes, sigh, and say that their jurisdiction lay only within the city itself and that she should seek aid elsewhere.

“It ain’t our job to police outside the walls of Starvale.  Every bumpkin with a grudge would have us bringing his neighbor up on charges of stealing his livestock.”  Their captain says laconically.  “The city has bounty for adventurers who wanna take such like on.  Maybe you can find sommat who’ll help ya out.  Merc guild or else put a notice on the board in The Boiling Kettle.”

Following the directions the Weaver gave them, they make their way to an abandoned barn on the northern outskirts of Starvale. It is a nervous twenty minute walk to the meeting place.  In an attempt to defuse the tension, Vellk looks at his friends with a grin as he strolls down the cobblestones, apparently the very image of calm.

He looks at the others with a heartfelt smile, feeling almost at home with these souls. Thankfully his one true friend from the army just happened to be there in the inn. Could it be fate? “Does anybody have any preparations before we arrive?”

His calm demeanor spreads to the rest of the group, and by the time they reach the rendezvous point they are all feeling strong and confident.  The sellers are already waiting at the abandoned barn, a simple, large structure with old rusty farming implements leaning against the wall.  A ladder at the end of the barn opposite the open doorway leads to a hay loft ten feet above the barn floor.

As they enter the barn, a voice calls out to them, “Halt!  That’s close enough!”

A sinewy elf in gray clothes smiles at three humans behind her. “I told you they would come. A dragon egg is much too valuable to pass up.” The elf turns back to the party, “Now, let’s do this quickly. Here is what you asked for.” She holds a very large hide backpack toward them. “You throw the payment over to me, and we will leave the egg here. We will exit the barn, and then you can leave after five minutes have passed. No fuss, no muss.”

She pauses and looks at them more closely. “Hold on… Something is not right here… I was told the merchant was a man of girth, not muscled and fit. And I thought there would be less of you. Explain yourselves” she says, instinctively putting the hide backpack, bulging with its hidden cargo, behind her back and looking around warily.

Hajima’s sharp eyes see that the figures standing opposite you are lightly armed and armored.  Tuskor’s eyes can easily pierce the darkness and he catches a glimpse of the contents of the elf’s hide pack, and he can see a large dark red and earthen brown egg, nearly hidden within the bag.

Tuskor studies the elf and her team’s behavior, wondering if his party’s ruse has been discovered so quickly or if there’s still time to salvage it. He decides that they aren’t immediate threatening and subtly motions for the others to stand back and allow the flame haired Bard to talk their way out of the pickle.

“Now, now, let’s not be hasty”, Rowan says, hands held out, clearly showing that she’s unarmed. “Tyrnan was unable to come tonight, so he sent us in his stead. With all the troubles about lately, we were nervous carrying such precious diamonds without a large party of bodyguards. I apologize if we’ve disturbed you.”

She nods at Hajima and Tuskor, gesturing for them to back away. “We’ll just send a few of them off and carry on our transaction, shall we? I know that Tyrnan will be very disappointed in me if I don’t complete our business for him.”

The buyers visibly relax, taking hands off weapon hilts and the elf leans forward, greed shining in her eyes.  “The payment? Let’s see it.” she demands.

Sebastian will scan the guards to see who would be the easiest to hide the harper pin on.  His sharp eyes spot one of the guards who seems to be more interested in ogling the female elf’s curves than in keeping watch.  His magical servant slips up behind the guard and waits for the opportune moment to strike.

“Now,” says the sly, female elf. “Throw the payment over to us, and we drop the egg. Then we all leave and go to our beds. No fuss, no muss.”

Hajima stayed back at first to calm the wary elf. At this point he moves slowly forward to stand next to Rowan and Sebastian. He reaches into his coat and pulls out the pouch of diamonds. The pouch clinks slightly with the distinct sound of gemstones. “Worry not, master elf. Your payment is here.”

He tosses the diamond pouch to the elf, but it intentionally falls short and lands a step or two in front of him. The elf snickers and eyes the pouch with obvious greed. When she bounds forward and bends down to pick up the fake diamonds, the distraction provides the Sebastian with the perfect opportunity to direct the unseen servant in the placement of the tracking pin.

Rowan watches as the elven woman leans over and picks up the sack of ‘diamonds.’ She stays calm and lets her voice sound as confident and persuasive as she can … “And now the egg, and we shall be on our way.”

Sebastian stifles a smile as senses his servant place the magical pin on the guards’ dark grey cloak. She places the hide bag containing the egg on the ground and cautiously steps back.  She and her guards swiftly retreat from the barn.

Rowan walks over to the egg, and says, looking nervously around. “We’d better go.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “I wouldn’t want to still be here when they find out the diamonds are … you know.” Sebastian quickly checks the egg, then nods and helps Rowan carefully pack it in her knapsack.

“Let’s go….quickly!” Sebastian makes sure everyone else moves and he helps cover the rear with shield spell ready and mage armor cast.

Hajima helps Sebastian cover their retreat, scanning the surroundings for any sign of ambush or pursuit.  His keen vision, or perhaps his paranoia, reveals three roguish figures, stealthily hidden in the loft and a fourth figure, hidden behind a wagon wheel with a burlap sack draped across it.  As he goes to point this out to the group a voice interrupts him, and a tough-looking half-orc male brandishing a mace appears in the doorway of the barn.

“The toll for passage out of this barn is the egg. I’m sure you will hand it over peacefully so I don’t have to take your lives instead.”  He is flanked by two men, equally thuggish.  One of them has a missing left ear.

Hajima takes a step back to make a little more space between him and the speaker. He sets his long wooden case on the ground and kicks a button with his boot. The case opens and a metallic sound can be heard from within. Suddenly a massive heavy crossbow springs into the air. Hajima catches it with practiced ease. He presses another button on the crossbow itself and the arms lock into position, cocked and already loaded with a deadly bolt. Hajima then glares at the half-orc and responds grimly, “The fate of this egg is no concern of yours. Stand aside, or you will lose more than an ear this night.”

“And what say the rest of you? Do you wish to die like this fool?” The half orc spits menacingly, drool dripping from his jaws.

Tuskor pulls his long staff from the sheath on his back and they all can now see it is carved from a mammoth tusk.  The Dwarf takes a step toward the thug and snarls. “Stand aside or pay the price.”  The thugs take a faltering step backward, however the half-orc simply grins, his jutting tusks making the expression gruesome.

Vellk mutters something derisive about orcs and their heritage with disgust in his eyes and frees the snap on his battle axe.  “Shall we redden the floor with this filth?”

Sebastian readies a spell and an aura of cold surrounded his right fist, glowing with a harsh white light. He moves to ensure he is providing cover for Rowan to stay hidden.  His face is set in the flat, emotionless glare of a combat veteran.

The half orc thug stand menacingly at the doorway brandishing a mace. He is flanked by two thugs, one wielding a mace and sporting a buckler, another hoisting a heavy crossbow.  “Give us the egg and we won’t have to paint the walls with your blood.” He says in a guttural growl.

Hajima yells out, “There are three in the roof above!” His eyes trained along the sight on his crossbow, pointed at the head of the leader.

The swirling globe of white light concentrates around Sebastian’s hand, icy blue-white crystals spinning rapidly inside as the ray of icy energy leaps forth, striking the half orc thug.  He grunts in pain and then curses Sebastian as a thick layer of frost partially restricts his movement.  As though this was a signal, two nets fly out from the loft above as the hidden bandits above trying to ensnare the party below.

A creak on the floorboards above alerts Tuskor at the last moment. Thrusting his staff into the ground he pushes himself backward and out of the way of the net, turning a neat shoulder roll and coming back up to his feet, staff at the ready.

Vellk bloodies the half orc, shearing through his slowed parry and cutting him deeply. The half orc howls in pain as chaos erupts. Another net is thrown from the loft above towards Vellk, all three bandits above now visible.  The big warrior steps casually to one side and the net falls harmlessly to the ground.

Tuskor stares up at the half-orc and begins to mutter in an ancient tongue. He jolts forward closing the gap between them in an instant. As he charges the spell he is whispering takes effect. The mammoth tusk quarterstaff begins to splinter and twist.  Fang-like protrusions pierce through its surface and pulsing veins crawl from the cracks and wrap around it, morphing the once smooth tusk into a brutal looking spiked weapon.

By the time Tuskor is in the half-orc’s area the transformation is complete and the Dwarf swings the staff up over his head and brings it crashing down onto the top of his foes’ skull.  The half orc sways on his feet, cracking his left eye socket and making him sway on his feet.  Blood drips from the ruined eye

“There’s still time to walk away from this my friend” Tuskor says solemnly as he sees the damage he has inflicted.

“The half orc is not walking away, unless you have a very good reason my friend.” Vellk snarls, his hatred of the orc race is almost unreasonable, as if something in his past affects him every time he sees one.

A thug hefts his crossbow and, at a grunted order of pained panic from his half-orc leader, fires a bolt point blank at Vellk. The bolt bites deep through his armor and into his side. The other thug spits in the Dwarf’s eye as he runs at Tuskor wildly swinging his mace at his head twice.   Tuskor manages to turn the first with his magically enhanced ivory club but the second swing takes him in the side of the head, leaving his ears ringing.  

The half-orc swings wildly, once each at Tuskor and Vellk, missing both as blood runs into his ruined eye socket. He darts to the side, tucking and rolling to avoid any riposte dropping his mace and un-slinging the crossbow from across his back once he is out of range of their weapons.

Rowan plays a haunting melody on her flute and the orc bruiser drops his crossbow, holding his head in agony as her magic worms its way into his mind.  He turns and begins to flee as her tune changes, becoming jaunty and proud.  Sebastian’s spine straightens with resolve as he readies his next attack.

Hajima pulls the trigger and fires his massive crossbow with a harsh metallic clang of braided cable striking the steel firing plate.  The bolt buries itself in the base of the fleeing half orc’s skull, dropping him into a limp form bleeding on the ground. He doesn’t take kindly to being called a fool, especially not by the likes of these cretins. He then expertly reloads another bolt and prepares to fire on the shooters in the loft.

Knowing Vellk is a hardy fighter who often rallies with when others think he is out of commission, Sebastian moves towards Tuskor using his action to utilize his military healing training to wrap a bandage with a pre-applied unguent around the wound on the Dwarf’s head.

A lithe, figure leaps from the shadows behind a wagon and moves up the ladder without seeming to even use his hands.  As he clears the last rung, he shouts, “That’s quite enough from you three!”  He piles into one of the attackers, driving him against the wall and they go down in a tangle of limbs.

Hajima sees the figure begin to attempt to grapple with one of the assailants in the loft. He adjusts his aim and fires another bolt, but he can’t get a clear shot while they struggle back and forth. The bolt flies wide to land in the rafters with a dull thunk. Hajima quickly loads another bolt and takes aim at the second thug in the loft that is currently not engaged. “You take care of him and I’ll handle the other one.”

As the struggle in the loft continues, their new ally twists suddenly, dodging one attack, but stepping directly into another. The other bandit strikes, slashing deeply into Lanaver’s back.  A wide gash opens and blood sprays across the straw.

The thug, at the front of the barn drops his heavy crossbow, instead drawing a mace and advances on Tuskor.  While the Dwarf is still dazed from the blow to the head, and the thug strikes him once across the left shoulder and once on the right, barely missing a blow that would have crushed his spine.

Rowan plays a haunting melody once again, this time focusing on the enemy who is just drawing his mace back to strike Tuskor down.  Blood begins to run out of his nose and he runs, screaming in terror as she will draws her rapier with a steely rustle and prepares to enter the melee.

Sebastian fires another blast of chill energy at the thug fleeing from Rowan’s magic and it freezes his left arm solid.  He cries out, falling to the ground in shock, the frozen limb shattering on contact.  Another closes in on Sebastian and the sorely wounded Tuskor, murder in his eyes.

Their mysterious ally tosses his opponent over the side of the loft with a smooth shoulder throw.  The man lands badly and struggles to rise.   Before the bandit can rise, his attacker salutes the other two enemies jauntily.

“Enough heroics for tonight lads!” With that, he leaps from the loft aiming to soften his landing with the man he just threw.  The bandit’s breath goes out in a whoosh and he loses consciousness to the tune of several shattering ribs.

Rowan dexterously slips to the side of the man trying to kill her friend Sebastian, and skewers him with her rapier. He cries in pain as her blade stabs him in the calf.

The two bandits in the loft change tactics, pulling light crossbows from where they hang on loops beneath their cloaks and firing into the melee below.  Vellk grunts in pain as a bolt strikes his right bicep, passing all the way through the muscle.  The second missile passes close enough to Sebastian that he can hear the sharp *fsssk* sound of its passing.

The hearty thug below swings at Sebastian and Vellk, smashing the warrior on the arm wounded by the crossbow bolt with a meaty smack, eliciting a grunt of pain from the big man.  Sebastian threw up an arm to block the blow, discovering that it was a bad idea when the mace fractured his forearm.

Rowan stabs the wounded thug through the chest with her rapier, running him clean through.  He clasps the grievous wound but stands his ground somehow, her sword blade missing his vital organs.

Vellk attempts to go and deal with the two crossbow wielding thugs in the hayloft and gets a mace in the back as he turns away from the enemy he was facing.  He cries out, spinning back to bury his axe in the man’s neck with a horrifying crunch.  The big warrior takes a deep breath exerting a supernatural effort of will that seems to close his wounds and stop his bleeding.  He turns to the remaining two bandits with a sinister gleam in his eye, blood dripping from the end of his axe.

The two bandits leap down from the loft, brandishing maces.  One lands next to the body of their comrade, swinging at the man who had come to their aid in such a flamboyant fashion.  The other man ducks the forward and backward strikes before sweeping the legs out from under the thug and stabbing him in the throat with his rapier.

“Stay down cutter!” He shouts in savage satisfaction, diving for cover as Vellk engages the last fighter. “You’ve got this! I believe in you!”

The thug strikes Vellk in the head twice with his mace, knocking him unconscious.  Glancing at his fallen comrades, he seems to suddenly realize how outnumbered he is.  He turns to flee but as he runs, Rowan springs from the darkness.  Using his own momentum against him, she hacks halfway through the bandit’s neck dropping him in a spray of arterial blood.

Sebastian bends over Vellk, cursing silently under his breath as he tended to the warrior’s wounds.  “He’ll make it, but this was too close for comfort.”

Rowan, rapier still in hand, keeps a wary eye out, to make sure another ambush wasn’t lurking in the darkness. Heart pounding from excitement and anticipation, she realizes that she fought well and after a careful inspection of herself, that she wasn’t even hit.  Most importantly, her friends and the egg seem to be ok.  

As Sebastian completes his healing tasks, she whispers, “We’d better go, in case there are reinforcements. Perhaps if we close the doors, the Weavers will have someone who can clean up this mess. For now, I think we must make sure the egg is safely delivered.”

The man who joined the fray late walks from the shadows, a hand pressed to his side.  “Anyone know how to plug this hole in me? I’d be ever so thankful.” he grinned through the pain.

Sebastian comes over and slaps a quick bandage on the large slash on the man’s side. “Rowan is right, we need to get back to town quickly, take what loot you feel we can while I do the quick patch job on all these wounds of ours.”

Rowan wipes her sword with straw to get most of the blood off, and sheaths it.  “Let’s head to the inn, and quickly!”

Their new ally shakes his head, “We can’t go back to the inn they’ll follow and ambush us later. I know a safe house not far from here, we can at least rest there for the time being.”  He holds his bandages tightly and nods, “Thank you. My name is Lanaver, I’ve been tasked by our mutual employer to make sure we all make it home alive. Quickly now, they won’t wait long when they discover they’ve been duped and we killed some of their men.”

As Lanaver leads the way towards his safe house, a group of Starshield Guards approaches at what approximates a marching pace for the notoriously lazy Guardsmen.  After a few turns down side streets to make sure they weren’t being followed, the group makes their way back to the Boiling Kettle.

Madame Freia finds Rowan after her performance and happily tells her that she is welcome to play at the tavern when she is able.  In addition, she informs Rowan that her room tomorrow evening, should she wish to stay again, will be free. The night wears on as everyone becomes acquainted with each other over pints and drinks.  Eventually, the other patrons slowly peel off to their rooms or the streets.

The newly acquainted adventurers are preparing to bunk down for the evening in their shared room when one of Freia’s daughters peeks inside. She enters, looking nervous or excited when Sebastian opens the door wide.

“Pardon my interruption,” says the Halfling, a girl named Reece, just shy of adulthood. “A chap just came into the common room downstairs and asked me to fetch you. Something about some coin needing to change hands for an easy job.”

She plays with her curly red hair nervously. “Mother said to fetch you lot, who’ve just put your name down on the board. Best get yourselves dressed for work if you want to earn some coin.” She eagerly waits to see what the answer will be.

Rowan sits on her bunk, brushing her long hair as Reece delivers her message. Thinking to herself that if she’d had a sister, perhaps she’d have been like Reece, she smiles up at the slightly younger woman. “Oh, thank you! We’ll be right down!” She leaps to her feet and puts her comb away in her bag. She dons her leather armor, straps her rapier to her hip, and looks through her bag to see what else she might need.

She sits lacing up her boots while the others gather their things. She grins mischievously at Sebastian, “Let the adventure begin!” She knows she shouldn’t be so excited, because an urgent mission most often meant that someone was in dire trouble. But she can’t help herself. She wants so badly to help people, and was so eager to see her new friends in action. She begins humming a melody as she finishes lacing her boots, and attaches her flute and a few other things to her belt.

Sebastian wastes no time in gathering his adventuring gear and his prized spell book, wrapped in wax sealed leather. His arcane focus, a clear Crystal orb with circling mist inside as well as his healing kits. He looks to the others. “We better bring some torches, I for one can’t see a lick in the dark. Also if you don’t mind I would like to perform a benediction, asking for blessings from Aesis, Geaos and any other gods you worship for this our first quest as an adventuring company. Do we need a name? Like “The Shields of Starvale” or anything else for that matter. “

“Yes, Rowan bring your pipes, we may need them, or those we find may.” He gives her a knowing wink. “Yes, let the adventure begin!”

“The Shields of Starvale,” Rowan muses, as she adds her healing kit to her sack. Or perhaps ‘The Guardians of Starvale’ or, since we might adventure in other places, perhaps something more generic.” She suddenly smiles at Sebastian, “I love that you want us to have a name. It makes us sound almost like family!”

She comes nearer to Sebastian and says, “I would welcome any blessing you care to impart. As for torches, I agree. I cannot see in the dark either, although, if our torches run out, I can help with that.” She gives him a saucy wink, whistles a few notes, and four bright motes of light surround them, each about the size and brightness of torchlight. She sends them to the four corners of the room, and watches them with pleasure. Rowan still finds the thrill of magic new and exciting, and almost can’t believe that she can bend the forces of nature to her will. She lets the lights flicker, and grins at the men. “Shall we?” and she gestures flamboyantly at the door.

“We shall” Vellk stands grabs his dark stained deer skin rucksack that he acquired while ransacking an orcish encampment a while back. A well-made pack is a life saver at times. Finally, he checks his battle axe, settling the well balanced weapon at his hip.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you so much” he leans down and gives Rowan a small kiss on her cheek and whispers “Those lights are beautiful.” Standing back up to his full height, he motions to Vellk then gives the proper salute. He asks everyone to gather hands and bow heads in respect.

“Aesis, goddess of magic, hear our petitions. Know we come to you to seek your blessings. This world is yours and we would be lost without your very essence, please tell Geaos he still has worshipers as well. Please give our spells potency to overcome our foes and bring fame to your name. Lend strength to our weapons and magic to our days. Thank you for all you have done and continue to do.”

After respectfully bowing his head to receive the blessing, Hajima turns his mind to more practical matters. He sets aside his backpack but still leaves the shoulder pouch on. He takes out a pair of hip quivers and straps them to his belt. He then removes a third set of crossbow bolts and puts them loosely into his pouch, along with a smaller kit that clinks metallically. Throwing back his long leather coat, he loosens a military issue rapier in a sheath behind his back. Putting on his wide-brimmed hat again, he picks up the long wooden case with a soft grunt and nods at the group with an eager grin.

“Well, folks, it looks like it’s finally time for a bit of action. Let’s see what this night has in store for us!”

As they move to the common room, they see a hooded figure alone at a large table. The figure motions to them as they descend the stairs. The figure keeps its face obscured by his hood and speaks in a low voice, obviously disguising it. He greets them, throwing back the hood to reveal himself as an older half-elf with greying brown, shoulder length hair. He refuses to provide a name, but identifies himself as a member of the Weavers, an organization dedicated to fighting evil wherever it hides. He wears a brooch that confirms his ties to the Weavers, a tiny silver loom strung with golden wire.

“Greetings, adventurers. I have a task that I believe could be well suited to you, however it must be done tonight.” He stuffs and lights a wooden pipe. “The Weavers have captured a merchant that was going to illegally purchase a red dragon egg. We want your group to pose as the merchant and his hirelings.  If you accept the mission, you must go to the buy site, make the transaction, and place a magical pin on one of the sellers so that Weavers can track them back to their lair.”

“The captured merchant that the sellers has a scarred face, an older human male. We believe that the sellers have not seen the man and could therefore be duped by an imposter. The rest of you could act the roles of bodyguards, assistants, porters, and so forth.” The Weaver produces a small sack of fake diamonds that should be used to buy the egg. “These fake gems are basically worthless, but good enough to pass a cursory inspection.  We don’t expect that these buyers are overly intelligent.”

“At some point during the exchange, one of you must place a small silver pin infused with magic on the seller or one of the crew. Once that is done, we can more easily scry on the sellers and learn more about their operation.” Seeing their interest piqued he takes draws upon his pipe and blows a lazy smoke ring.

He continues outlining the plan. “No real names are used in these types of transactions, so the two parties should refer to each other as buyer’ and ‘seller’ which will make things much easier for you.”

Seeing that several of the adventurers have questions, he holds up his hand, announcing he will not hear questions until he outlines the job completely.  “Wait until you have heard me out entirely before asking questions.  There is more to come and I abhor repeating myself.”

“Once the transaction is complete you are to bring the egg back to the stables behind the Boiling Kettle, where will meet you and take possession of it.  Under no circumstances should you fight the sellers or harm the egg. The point is to track the sellers, so killing or capturing them is counterproductive.  For completing the task successfully and as instructed I will pay two hundred gold pieces.”

He leans forward, exhaling smoke out his nostrils and as he does so, a log snaps with a loud crack in the fire, settling suddenly and sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.  “So, are you up to it? Time is of the essence as the meeting is scheduled to take place at midnight, which as you all know is not far away.”

Hajima listens patiently and attentively while the Weaver outlines the mission details. Once the briefing is concluded, he nods and says “I’m in. I think myself and my new friends here are more than capable of handling this task. I’m not the handsomest or prettiest face in the bunch, nor the quickest of wit, if’n you catch my meaning. My skills lie elsewhere. So I’m probably best suited as the bodyguard or porter. However, I do have some quick hands when the need arises, and I may be able to plant that pin for you.” Hajima then looks to the others to see if they also accept the mission and what roles they feel best suit them for completing the objective.

Rowan looks thoughtful. “Well, if the merchant is expected to be a man, I certainly cannot play that role, but I will help in any way that I can.” Looking up at all the tall men around her, she laughs and winks at her friends, both new and old. “I don’t suppose I look much like a bodyguard either! Perhaps I could be the merchant’s assistant.”

“Perhaps Vellk’s battle wounds are sufficient to convince these nefarious scoundrels that he is this buyer.” mutters Tuskor, with a slow glance to Vellk. “I would perhaps be best suited as a protector of such a man, however, it might be wise to speak with the captive first. Just so as we’re clear as to what our ruse must entail.”

The agent speaks at this, “The merchant has been spoken to by Weaver agents and I have relayed their findings. There is no time to go to the merchant’s current whereabouts and if we did he’d most likely have been moved on. Such is our cautious way.”

Rowan’s brow furrows, “Sir, having never seen one before, just exactly how large is a dragon’s egg? And can we carry one without raising suspicions on our return? We might need a container for it, and, well …” She pauses while she thinks a moment. “How fragile is it? Is it anything like a chicken’s egg? Because carrying something like that …” Again she pauses, obviously concerned. “I wouldn’t want it to break.”

Hajima speaks up while Tuskor ponders the nature of dragon eggs. “Very well. I will play the role of porter and attendant then. Who among us shall plant the pin on this scoundrel once we make contact?” Hajima looks at Sebastian. “Perhaps our spellcasting friend here has the nimblest fingers for such a delicate task?”

“I wouldn’t worry little one, imagine how tough a chicken egg would be if a chicken grew to the size a dragon”. Tuskor turns to the others “Very well, are we all prepared? Vellk will pose as this human buyer, whilst Rowan is his assistant and Hajima in possession of these diamonds”.

Tuskor glances over to Sebastian “We shall hang back as bodyguards, perhaps we could simply attach the pin to the bag of diamonds if the risk of being caught is too great?”

Vellk looks up, his brow furrowed and faces the Weaver. “Sir are there any identifying marks so we are not duped in much the same way we are doing to them. Does the egg even matter since the pin seems to be the focus?”  He grins, striking a theatrical pose. “Friends, I have often thought about acting out a grand performance.  I shall take on the challenge, there was this play once in my youth where I played a grand oak…”

Sebastian smiles, “I am light on my feet and nimble of finger; I would be happy to plant the pin my friends.”  He pauses for a moment in thought, “However Malachi may be able to be our best bet in getting the pin planted or slipped into a bag.” He motions to where his invisible friend is. “Malachi is very helpful I would be glad to assist.”

Tuskor nods at this suggestion and then looks around cautiously; wondering if the conjuration is nearby. “How long does this sorcery of your last?”

“Until I see this ‘invisible friend ‘ I will question your sanity sir.” Vellk says, smiling mischievously.

“It lasts for an hour each time I draw him from the ethereal plane. I can summon him with a ritual which doesn’t deplete my reserve, or I can summon him in an instant if the need arises. “

Vellk abandons his levity, becoming serious.  “He sounds like he might be of some use. Can he hold a torch when we don’t need him to be so sneaky?”

“Just imagine. A real dragon egg. I do think it must be important not to let a red dragon get into evil’s hands. Perhaps we should do this. Whoever gets the egg, quickly put it in my knapsack if it will fit. Then, if things go sideways, I can get it away while the rest of you cause a distraction. I am very small, and am easily overlooked when there are big people around.” While saying this, Rowan takes her very flamboyant, curly, red hair; twists it into a rope, and quickly pins it on top of her head in a loose bun with a couple of sticks.

“That way we can ensure that both parts of our mission have the best chance of success.” She looks earnestly up at the others, for once looking quite serious. Amazingly, she actually looks different without her flamboyant motions and expressions and hair, and the others can see that she might be able to slip into the night unnoticed.

“It seems as though we have a strategy, and if that fails I’m sure we are capable enough to thwart these sellers”. Tuskor turns back to their task-giver “Where is this meeting place again? We shall leave at once.”

“Our plan is sound. The instructions were to avoid a confrontation, if possible, else the Weaver’s hand will be tipped. If there is a problem, we must make it look natural and not at all staged. Perhaps a distraction, so that Rowan and Sebastian can complete their critical roles.” Hajima ponders a moment. “A clumsy attendant such as myself, or an overly sensitive bodyguard could do the trick and divert cautious eyes.”

Hajima looks at each member of the group and sees the resolve in their eyes. “I believe we are all set then. Gods – or goddesses – willing, we shall succeed and earn ourselves some easy coin and a new tale to tell.” He then looks back to Tuskor. “And if our contact here dares to play us false, well… Let’s just say that we will have ourselves a proper reckoning later.” Hajima pats the wooden case at his side suggestively and peers intently at the Weaver. “We will find him. And he will sincerely regret crossing us. This I can guarantee.”

“I do not think that will be necessary Hajima.”  Tuskor says, meeting the mysterious Weaver’s eye.

Hajima then blinks and smiles at the group once more. “Shall we be off then? Midnight is fast approaching.”

“I am ready, if we have all the information we need then let’s get moving.  Time is of the essence.” Sebastian moves to the door opens it and holds it for his companions.

Rowan winks at Sebastian as he holds the door, and says quietly, “At the right moment, perhaps you, with your invisible servant, will be inspired to a wee bit o’ extra stealth.” She smiles brightly, and then schools her face into a more neutral expression as she leaves the inn.

Tuskor nods at the half-elf and walks out the door.

Rowan watches her friend talking with the other veteran and smiles widely at them. She cannot believe her luck! Two vets, two heroes, TWICE the excitement! She sees the food that Sebastian and Vellk ordered still sitting at the bar so she slips out of her chair and winds through the crowd. Rowan stands on tippy toes to reach the two bread bowls and the joint of roast mutton, balancing them effortlessly with her drink as she walks over to join Sebastian.

“Hungry, my friends? You’ve forgotten something!” Giggling, she looks to Vellk and smiles widely. “Hello! I’m Rowan, well I know Sebastian already introduced me but I like to do it myself because I think it’s friendlier that way.  Sebastian is my friend and any friend of Sebastian’s is a friend of mine!” She juggles the bread bowls and her drink, trying to proffer her hand for a shake, and laughing, gives up. Setting down the food and drink, Rowan perches on the chair and asks. “So, what is this game? I like games!”

Tuskor nods awkwardly and glances between the faces of the others before returning to where he stood earlier. The others may notice that he hasn’t once sat down. He watches the game of dice from a distance, baffled as to its purpose.

Sebastian and Vellk take turns showing the diminutive Halfling the rules to the common soldier’s dicing game of Twenty Bones.  With much laughter and explanation of the different terms for the different sets, some of which were quite off color this being a soldier’s dicing game, they manage to play a few rounds.

Sebastian starts to put the pieces together about the wild looking dwarf. He obviously hasn’t spent much time around other people. Probably especially around humans. Sebastian asks the barkeep what he is drinking or eating and buy him another round.

“Who him?”  The maid asks, indicating the fur clad Dwarf with a jerk of her head, “Oh, he’s drinking milk.  Hot milk.  He’s a strange one, even for a dwarf.  Even for a dwarf in this town.”

Sebastian wanders over from the bar with another cup of hot milk and offers it to Tuskor.  “Aren’t you going to join us?  There’s room for another at our table easily.”

“No need.  I like standing.  Don’t have food to set down.  No reason to sit.”  The Dwarf responds, his mouth moving behind the curtain of his beard.

Sebastian is slightly taken aback by the gruff dwarf’s statement, but continues nonetheless. “I do think my companions and I are looking to get ourselves into some adventuring work. Each for our own reasons, but all for the reason of good companionship and good coin. With that massive staff I am assuming you know how to handle yourself. By the markings you wear I would have to guess you are either an outrider or a hermit, though no offense meant if I am wrong. I do know we fought alongside a lot of Dwarves during the demon scourge.” Sebastian gets a noticeable chill up his spine, and takes another long drink off of his ale.

“The Thundermane clan” Tuskor repeats, his accent thick with the sounds of the northern mountains known as Teeth of the World. “Bearers of the earth shield and guardians of the moors of Vassa”.

“Those were dark times, but many of your clans showed they are able to be counted on. From which clan do you hail if you do not mind me asking?” While waiting for a reply Sebastian quickly casts a minor spell, summoning an invisible servant he affectionately refers to as ‘Malaki’ to help the nice lady at the bar clean up after all of these wonderful guests. The unseen form of Malaki begins cleaning up spilled ale, sweeping up the mud tracked into the tavern and otherwise making itself useful.

“I’m sure the Dwarves you have known are honorable but I doubt they are of my people, we have kept to our own small corner for some time.” Tuskor’s eyes follow the tumble of the dice. “I need no more coin than a meal and a roof require, and the upkeep of my gear” he continues. “But if a quest involves putting right an unnatural force then you have my interest”.

“Let’s hope that is the case Tuskor, I would like to get to know you better as well as protecting people from the unnatural forces of this world.”

Tuskor nods, seeming to have dried up his supply of words for the time being.

After licking the last bits of grease of his hands and swallowing the dregs of his mug Vellk orders another round of ale for the house. “Did you guys find anything of interest on that board? I’d love to sit and eat and drink for hours but I think my meager funds would soon run out.” He then places a gold coin in the barmaids hand to cover the cost of the round. “Let me know hun if I owe you more.”

As the dice game continues, the door to the tavern suddenly opens. Striding in with a gust of humid coastal air, comes a figure dressed in thick layers of hide leathers and wearing a wide-brimmed leather hat. He looks weathered, in his mid-thirties, and well-traveled. Dust and old mud are still spattered on his boots. He stops at the entrance and lets the door close softly behind him. Surveying the crowd, he visibly tenses his jaw at seeing so many occupied tables. His gaze comes to rest on the dice game in progress. Seeing the signature posture and bearing of soldiers, he strides purposefully over to the table.

He tips his hat respectfully at Rowan with a small smile and nods amicably at Sebastian, Tuskor, and Vellk. “Greetings gentlemen – and lady – pardon my intrusion into your recreational pursuits, but there seems to be a severe lack of tables in this establishment tonight. I have marked you gentlemen as fellow military men and was wondering if you wouldn’t mind if I joined you for a bit.” He waits patiently as everyone shares a look between the group.

Sebastian shrugs and says, “Please have a seat we would be glad to have you. Any chance I could offer you some hospitality buy you another drink or a warm bed to sleep in?”

At the same time, Rowan smiles invitingly and says, “Of course!  We have plenty of room here!”

The man sits and says, “You have my thanks and well met, but I have no need of charity. My name is Hajima Jom. Once a Sergeant, but now employing my skills as somewhat of a freelancer.”

“I’m Sebastian, and this is Vellk.  We’re recently from the Third Legion Scouts ourselves.”  Sebastian says.

“Oh wow, another soldier!”  Rowan says with a wide smile, “Oh are you a hero too?  Do you have stories?  Will you tell them to me?  I’m working on a song…”

Rowan’s rush of questions is interrupted when Freia stops by the table with a similar greeting to Hajima and he orders a generous helping of beef stew and baked bread, along with a pint of ale. “Please, carry on with your game and don’t mind me. Been on the road for a good long time, I have, and I’m just looking forward to a bite of this mighty fine stew. I always make a point to stop here when I’m in town.”

“Are you just passing through or are you looking for work like the rest of us?”  Sebastian asks, returning to the dice game.

Rowan squirms in her seat, barely able to pay attention to the game. A whole table full of heroes! What incredible luck for her future. She eats her food more quickly than usual, barely tasting the delicious stew, washed down with the sweet mead. Her eyes sparkle with excitement at being surrounded by such experienced soldiers. Her head swims with ideas for songs and tales, imagining what they must have been through to live so long during war, and to give them the scars that mar their beautiful, experienced visages. As she finishes her meal, she looks around at the crowd, and wonders if she should offer to play tonight, or sit with these wonderful new friends.

Hajima’s bread and ale arrive first and he tears into the loaf like a starving wolf.  The soldiers recognize the focused eating of one long at the trail, far from a meal that wasn’t trail rations.  In spite of the attention he gives the meal, his eyes continue to dart around the room, constantly assessing and re-assessing the patrons.

The stew arrives, and one hand continues to heap spoons of steaming stew into his mouth, while the other hand never drifts far from the long, heavy case that rests on the floor beside him.  He almost seems to forget the others at the table.  When he pushes the bowl back after wiping the bottom clean with the heel of bread, Sebastian tries again.

“This wonderfully diverse crew you see here are all looking for some adventure in work are you looking for the same?”  He glances at his companions, “I haven’t found anything interesting on the board yet, although I am hoping to soon. Did any of you see anything that piqued your interest?”

“Well I noticed something from a cheese merchant with a rat problem.”  Rowan said brightly, “The pay is five gold pieces and a selection of fine cheeses.  Oh I do love a good cheese…” She is distracted by the sounds of storytelling and wanders off to listen.

“I am all good for cleaning out those giant rats the money’s not bad for a short amount of work and I would be interested in trying these new cheeses.” Sebastian says with a chuckle, “What do the rest of you think? Maybe we can take this quest until something better comes along. This could prove that we should be given a better job next time.”

An old man sits upon a wooden stool by the hearth. He is telling the tale of Starvale’s History. In between lines of history he gestures with wild, sweeping motions and punctuates his accounts of the land with fanciful flute playing. When he finishes he proclaims, “Thank you kind folk, for your coppers, and your ears! If you wish to know more of the History of Starvale and her peoples’ stories – I have books and scrolls of my tales for sale. A few patrons clap or at least acknowledge the old man before he makes his way to the bar.

Rowan claps enthusiastically and tosses a copper to the old man as he passes which he nimbly plucks from the air.  One of Madame Freia’s daughters tugs on Rowan’s sleeve.

“Pardon miss, just wanted to let you know your beast is settled right proper.  I even groomed the ass and scratched behind its long ears as he seemed a friendly cob.” She smiles and bobs a slight curtsey before hurrying off to her other chores.

“Thank you!” Rowan shouts after the daughter as she leaves. She takes a final sip of her mead nods decisively to herself, making her way towards Madame Freia.  “I think what this tavern needs is a little musical cheer.”

Tuskor approaches the old storyteller at the bar. “Greetings story-weaver. I am Tuskor of the Thundermane clan”. He begins to pick out some small pieces of bark and shrubbery from his beard as he continues to speak. “Your knowledge of these lands seems abundant, and though you mention tomes and scrolls, the truth is plainer in your words. Tell me, do you know of any threats to this place, any strange occurrences perhaps that hint at darker tidings?” Tuskor finds what appears to be some kind of nut amongst his fur covered face, after a quick sniff he pops it into his mouth and crunches down on it.

The old storyteller turns to Tuskor and says, “It is a pleasure to meet you, I am known here as old John the storyteller.” He shakes your hand. “Aye there are threats a many, and dark times have fallen on Starvale. I could sell you a copy of my manuscript “The Past and Present History of Starvale” to give you better insight into our ‘fair’ city.” He accents the word fair with a twist of disdain. “As for current threats, I’m afraid I have heard disturbing rumors of the Cult of the dragon coming to Starvale. And there is always ‘The Welcomers’, Starvale’s resident thieves guild. Dark times indeed sir, best to watch person and purse!” He smiles, almost in a forlorn manner.

“A cult to dragons you say? A likely affront to nature of ever I heard one”. Tuskor ruffles in his pocket and pulls out a gold piece, pausing to wonder if it is a fair trade. “Will this cover the cost of the manuscript?”

“Certainly, good dwarf!” He exclaims, happy to have made a sale. He rummages around in his belongings and exchanges Sebastian’s gold coin for a copy of ‘The Past and Present History of Starvale.’

Rowan finally finds Madame Freia in the throng.  “Pardon Mistress, but I happen to be a player of songs, it would be my pleasure to brighten your establishment with a jaunty tune or so if it pleases you?”

The other Halfling woman eyes her traveling garb with a slight quirk of an eyebrow, “Well, if you play well enough I’d be happy to hire you on as official songster.  You can play for room and board if the crowd likes your tunes.”

Clapping with glee, Rowan almost hugs the Mistress, but instead shakes her hand a tad too thoroughly.  “I’ll be back in just a few minutes.  I need to change into my performance costume.”  She slips up the stairs, changing out of her leathers and into the burgundy loose linen pants, olive green tunic with fancy trim, golden sash. She quickly shakes out her braid so that her hair tumbles down her back in a fall of red curls. Leaving her war pipes safely with the rest of her gear, she takes out her flute and returns to the main room.

She pulls over a stool and leaps onto it so that more can see her. She smiles widely at the crowd and pitches her voice so that it can be heard all through the room. “Ladies, Gentlemen, and Everyone Else …” she waits for the few laughs to die down. Let free your cares for the evening and let me ENTERTAIN YOU!” The last few words are said in a loud, excited tone, and she immediately puts flute to lips and begins a cheerful jig. Once she sees her audience is into it, she leaps off the stool and dances through the crowd, playing her cheerful tunes, smiling around her flute at all.

Vellk is tapping his foot to the beat and starting to think it’s time to throw his lot in with these fine people. These might be the small group that can help him accomplish his monetary goals for his family’s farm and the retirement of his loving mother.  He strolls up to the board and adds his name in large print next to the others.

Sebastian takes in the crowd, takes in their happiness, the mirth the good times and commits them to memory. For he knows darker days are ahead and he is going to need bright, happy things to fall back on.  Such a happy memory to give him the strength to pull through when all else is lost. He will never forget this tune and the smiles Rowan put on everyone’s face.

This is right and good, this is why he dreams becoming the most powerful wizard in the realms. To protect hearth and home, king and country, for the righteous good and just. Letting down his guard, Sebastian allows his liquid courage to embolden him to sing and clap along.