Chapter 1

It is late Autumn in the City of Whiterock and the weather has been very wet as the yearly storms have assulted the coast. Today the temperature has been rather chilly and a clear sign that winter will soon arrive.

It is still morning when you are summoned to the keep of Lord Aldwin Scarmantle. Each of you for different reasons; as a representative of the Merchant or Magic guilds, one of the Knightly orders, or a just warrior for hire.

As you arrive at the gates of the keep, you are escorted inside by a guard wearing the white stag insignia of Whiterock. The guard shows you into the great hall and says "please wait here, the lord will see you shortly."

Looking around the room you see you are not alone, there are 8 other people standing there also waiting to see the lord. Adorning the walls are blue banners with the white stag insignia and at the end of the hall is an empty wooden throne.

Sir Marduk Kar-Tesh, First Sword of Whiterock,Questioner and Torchbearer stands waiting the Lord's arrival.

His large frame,and closed Helm,portray a serious individual,who takes his job and position very seriously.

You are surprised looking at him,why he would be called First Sword,when his only potential weapon appears to be a Naginata

Almost stone like he barely moves from his guard like stance,you could be mistaken he was an automation,if not for the ever slight

head shifts clearly observing the rest of the group.

Silverthorn stands to one side of the room, an unassuming man dressed in casula leathers one might associate with either a thug or some kind of wilderness scout. His slight frame suggests he is not a thug, even if he were to engage in that profession he would have to be constantly proving himself, and he has the habit of not standing out, which is slightly more difficult in a room such as this. He notices and recognizes Marduk, their work may have brought them together in the past, and then casually disregards him, directing his attention to other aspects of the party.

Tal originally enters and leans against the wall next to Marduk, before starting to get weirded out. Eventually he moves over towards Silverthorn and gives him a quick nod. "Auden Fugit, at your service. What's your name?"

"Silverthorn. Are you not comfortable arround the questioner?"

Tal gives a shrug, looking Marduk's way. "Well, maybe I just don't grok his body language, but he seemed less than in the mood for conversation. No offense sir." He says, with a deferential nod to Marduk. "But you do kind of remind me of some of the golems guarding the guild house."

Tal pulled off his cloak, letting the remaining rain drip off of it before tossing it of his shoulder. His hair was a tangled black mess, and he was certainly one of the younger members of the group, in his early twenties at the latest.

"Ah, a represenative then of the mage's guild, I take it?"

At all the talk, Garth, a nearly seven-foot-tall peasant dressed up in a drab, home-spun cloak, shifted slightly. The large axe he bore appeared less like the tool of a woodcutter, and more the weapon of a warrior, but nothing else about him appeared especially martial. One could almost imagine the scent of manure, lingering about, for all his general cleanliness. For the most part, he appeared to be patiently waiting for whoever called him there to tell him what to do.

At the mention of the Mage's Guild, Garth turned his light-brown eyes to regard the pair suspiciously, his face twisted slightly by the scars that stood dominant.

"Journeyman mage, actually. I think there might be a few more experienced and senior mages here who can more officially represent the mage's guild" he says, gesturing at Machoo. "Journeyman mages tend to not have much pull"

Anuhea regards the room with an interested half-smile on her face. She is dressed formally, as befits an appointment with Lord Scarmantle. The brown and white of her clothing complement her dark brown eyes and accentuate her figure just enough to cause small puffs of smoke to rise from the ears of observing males, but not enough to ignite any fires.

She observes the unusual cast of characters gathered in the lobby: a peasant, a crazy tattooist, two wizards, two knights, two sell-swords, and a merchant (herself). "This is not the group I usually see waiting in Scarmantle's great hall," she thinks.

She notices Xaviien's shurikens and stares for a second out of professional interest, wondering where they were made and how much they are worth.