Prologue

“Cillamar,” the aging priest stated, “about a week's ride on horseback to the east, along the Old Trade Road.”

The four men seated across from him exchanged glances with one another.

“I've been told they are in need of capable heroes, and after what you have done for us, I could think of none more capable then yourselves,” Father Alnwick said, wiping some sweat from his brow.

He was not sweating from nervousness, the efforts of the adventurers that now sat facing him to halt the horrors that had befallen his town had made him feel quite relived. Instead, he was sweating from the closeness he felt. Seated at a table in the tavern's low light, flanked by two of Beton's finest hunters and across from four heavily armed and armored adventures was much more restricting then the open aired temple dedicated to Denithae, in which he oversaw both the secular and political duties of Beton. Alnwick reached beneath his simple brown robes and produced a cotton handkerchief, wiping some more sweat from his bald head.

“Sounds like a lead on some work, what do you think?” It was the cleric of Aristemis that spoke up first, as he often did. He wasn't too remarkable to look upon, many would say rather plain, but his soft hazel eyes, speckled with an uncanny fire showed his mix of kindness and resolve. He was dressed head to toe in banded mail, and though it was obvious that it had seen use, it seemed to maintain it's luster. Over the armor was a white tabard, an image of an arrow wrapped loosely with a scroll was sewn into it at chest level, the icon of his goddess.

“I want to know how much we'll get paid,” a low voice voice said beneath long flowing robes. Seated to the cleric's right, the man beneath the robes was scarcely visible, nothing but the edge of a pointed chin and wisps of dark hair that peeked out from beneath the hood.

“They didn't mention a specific payment or even job for that matter,” the Father explained, “just that you were to meet with a Lady Chauntessa at the Inn of the Slumbering Drake. Supposedly she sponsors types such as your self and provides work.”

“Well, it'll give us something to do,” a DESCRIPTIVE clad in studded leather chimed in.

“And give us something to kill,” added the final member of the group, and certainly the biggest. Wearing banded mail unfit for his frame, even seated, the large tanned skinned warrior towered above him companions. A mop of unkempt black hair covered dull brown eyes and when he spoke, one couldn't help but notice a distinct lack of most of his front teeth.

“Then it's decided then, thank you for the information Father,” the cleric nodded his head with respect to Alnwick.

“And how do we plan on getting there, since I'm the only one with adequate transportation,” the robed man asked the others, his head still lowered and obscured.

“Eyrnod brings up a good point, Father is there anywhere we can get horses?” asked the cleric.

“There is a breeder on the outskirts of town, he raises horses for our farmers, but, with your new found wealth,” the priest motioned toward ten large gold bars that rested in the center of the table, payment for the adventurers services, “I'm sure you can convince them.”

“Speaking of which,” CYDD DESCRIPTIVE leaned across the table, wrapping his arms around the pyramid of bars and dragging them toward the group, “we'll take these, thank you.”

“Cydd?” The cleric called to him almost paternally.

“Yes Brenton?” Cydd replied, still dragging the gold bars towards him.

“We're dividing those evenly you know.”

“I know, I just wanted to get a feel for them, all together,” Cydd awkwardly hugged the pyramid of bars and then sat back down.

Father Alnwick stood, the hunters on his either side did as well, recapturing the attention of the party.

“I once again wish to thank you for your help,” the priest began, “though I know I cannot say it nearly enough. You saved this town from a danger we would not have been able to handle. Had you not shown up, in a week's time, we may have very well been razed to the ground with no one left to say what had happened here. This town is forever in your debt and I offer more gratitude then I could ever express. You are destined for great things in this life and the one beyond, but always remember that you have friends here. The gods shall always watch over you and blessings of Denithae be upon you.”

“Father! Before you go,” Cydd quickly jumped to his feet, Eyrnod's eyes focused on the pile of gold bars in front of him, making sure none of them disappeared during the quick maneuver. They all remained, for now.

Cydd threw his arms out wide, “How about a hug?”

Father Alnwick stood perplexed for a moment, the eyebrows on his wrinkled face furrowed. Cydd held his ground, a roguish smile on his lips. The priest slowly stepped forward and Cydd swiftly moved around the table, throwing his arms around Alnwick. He gave him a strong hug, patting his back several times. The Father hesitantly hugged him back for a moment until Cydd stepped back, letting him go.

The priest let out an awkward chuckle and Brenton noticed the two hunters at his side relaxing their grip on their hunting knives. The three of them walked towards the door, Alnwick giving a friendly nod to Bayard, the tavern's halfling proprietor.

“Fare thee well friends, Olidyra willing, we shall meet again,” The father bowed slightly in respect and turned and walked out the door.

“Good guy,” Cydd nodded to himself and sat back down

“Well, I suppose we should divvy up our reward, get any supplies we need and make for Cillamar as soon as we can.”

“Agreed,” Eyrnod stated plainly.

“Absolutely,” Cydd smiles, his eyes wandering back to the bars of gold on the table.

“Maormo?” Brenton glanced over at the hulking man, “Agreed?”

Maormo, who had long since become fascinated with a small bug that was crawling across the table, had stopped paying attention several minutes ago.

“What?” Maormo looked up to see his three companions staring at him, fearful that they'd catch on to the fact he had no idea what was going on, he swiftly nodded, “of course?”

“Then it is agreed,” Brenton stated rising to his feet, “we're off to Cillamar.”