PROLOGUE - Part 1
Hae'driel, Western Continent

The morning sky opened up in the scenic splendor often alluded to in tales of yore.  The autumn air was crisp and clean, with a slight hint of apples wafting over it from the nearby orchard.

Baldwin couldn't notice this, slouched as he was behind a battered desk in his second-story room at the prestigious Hitchcock Inn, but his attention did fall upon a pair of bluebirds as they fluttered from branch to branch in one of the trees nestled outside his window.

Despite all that has happened, life goes on, and the world turns as it always has. he mused, jotting the words down upon one of the many pieces of parchment scattered before him.

A rustling sound drew him back from the realm of imagination, and Baldwin glanced once more at the window.  The birds had vanished, replaced by a large housecat wearing a contented smile adorned with three small, blue feathers, which were sticking out of his mouth.

Ah, but beauty is fleeting.  Which makes appreciating it in the present all the more important.

Further thoughts were interrupted by a sharp rap at the door.

"Baldwin, sir?  The child has arrived."

"Already?" he called through the door, shuffling his papers into something that resembled a neat stack and resting his quill in the inkwell.  "Well then, send him in."

The door opened, and a gangly lad of about 14 summers wandered in.  He was dressed in tattered, well-loved clothing that seemed to have seen better days, and fidgeted nervously as Baldwin approached him.

Though more than a century old, Baldwin's generous percentage of elven blood had slowed the outward appearance of age to a crawl.  His long hair remained as blonde as it was in his teens, and though his face exhibited friendly radiance and charm, it showed only the slightest hint of wrinkled wear.

"What's your name, lad?"

"Keef, sir.  And let me just say, it's an honor to meet you.  I know all of your stories by heart."

Baldwin raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"All of them?  I very much doubt that."

"Oh, sir, but it's true!  The Dementia of Psulian the Mad.  Demlin and the Nine Lives of Droopy.  The Tragedy of Sir Agar Wildheart. The Merry Misadventures of Sid the Malfeasant.  You're a legend!"

"Oh, I'm no legend, Keef," Baldwin said with a smile.  "I just write about them."

Keef shrugged off these comments with the enthusiasm of youth, grinning from ear to ear.

"I can't believe it!  You look just like the tapestries.  The gilded armor, the Cloak of Well-Meaning Blasphemy, the Liar's Lyre.  Oh, man, that sword -- the Two-Edged Blade of Truth!"

Baldwin glanced down at the items as they are mentioned, his grin growing to match the child's.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Keef, but only in its proper place.  I understand you were interested in the job I put up?"

"Oh, yes sir, I can start right away, if that's ok."

Baldwin held up a hand, palm outward.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, though I like your enthusiasm.  You've done this sort of work before?  Most of my applicants were a good deal more... seasoned."

Keef snorted and crossed his arms smugly.

"Oh, loads of times.  It'll be easy."

Baldwin's unconvinced expression lasted but a moment before vanishing.

"Well, confidence is half the battle, anyway.  You've got the job, Keef.  Do you need anything before you're on your way?"

The teen grinned for a moment before shaking his head.

"Not really, sir.  Just make sure you save a few sheets of parchment."

Baldwin frowned, taken aback.

"For what?"

"For me, of course," Keef laughed.  "This is going to be a tale worth telling."
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:20, Wed 11 Sept 2013.

In reply to DM (msg # 1):

PROLOGUE - Part 2
Ikuabai, Western Continent

Though female warriors often drew stares and whistles throughout the Western Continent, Ikuabai is the lone exception to this rule.  Ruled from afar by the Gaelian Sultanate, the city's code of laws forbid anything that could drive away potential customers -- and unwanted leering is among the actions prohibited.

The female warrior in question stood at the outskirts of the bazaar, contemplating the lists announcing that week's gladiatorial contests in the Grand Arena, when another flyer caught her eye.

"HEROES WANTED", she read aloud, a dry smile playing across her lips.  When are they not?

The ad continued:



The warrior began to walk away, then paused, glanced at the ad again, and removed it from the wall.

Why not?  she thought.  Every legend begins somewhere.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:01, Mon 16 Sept 2013.

In reply to DM (msg # 2):

PROLOGUE - Part 3
Daleshire, Western Continent

It was a slow day at Burl's Taxidermy & Discount Jerky Shack, the early morning stretching into a lazy afternoon without a single customer gracing his stoop.

Burl was seated on a ramshackle stool he'd built himself, situated behind an equally unstable table in a room draped with furs, hides, and smoked meats.  He was halfway finished carving his name into the tabletop with his knife when the bell he'd affixed to his door clanged with the hollow-sounding CLANK that sometimes meant business -- and often meant a traveler had lost their way.

It took Burl only seconds to realize his guest was both.

The wanderer was well-proportioned and healthy, dressed in durable, comfortable equipment that seemed to have only recently stopped receiving proper upkeep.  Upon his back was a large collection of animals, all cleaned only enough to transport them quickly.

"20 gold for the lot," the man said quietly, dumping what Burl calculated to be 35 gold worth of pelts onto the floor.  "Interested?"

Burl was interested, but something about the man put him ill at ease.  What had reduced this charming, strapping man to his present state?  And what was wrong with his left eye?

Not my business, never has been. Burl thought, but before he could help himself, he blurted out the question that had most recently occupied his mind.

The wanderer stared at him for a moment, then grinned disarmingly.

"How about 18?"

***

As Burl set to work skinning his newest collection of soon-to-be merchandise, he caught a glimpse of the wanderer passing through the other stands near his shop.  The man seemed to be reading something for a moment, then tore a piece of parchment from the announcement board, pocketed it, and vanished into the forest.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:47, Wed 11 Sept 2013.

In reply to DM (msg # 3):

PROLOGUE - Part 4
Hae’driel, Western Continent

Justice is a complicated concept, and those most devoted to its cause are an equally complicated people.  Its mightiest champions, the Emerald Flame, are renown for the peerless courage, their steadfast resolve, and their unwavering conviction, even in the face of rational discourse.

This is not entirely their fault; after all, the will of a goddess is not a thing to be trifled with.  It is said that Tassada herself communes directly with anyone seated upon the High Throne at the Emerald Table, and thus holds the Flame accountable for upholding the tenants of their faith.  I share these concepts because they are essential to understanding a peculiar conversation from recent history.

A paladin clad in the flawless kit and distinctive enthusiasm associated with youth walked into the temple's courtyard at the usual hour, and was surprised to find it buzzing with conversation.

"Why all the dour faces?" he asked a nearby cleric.  "Did the Empire extend the ceasefire with Drynn again?"

The cleric chuckled humorlessly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear before responding.  "Worse.  Baldwin has returned."

"Oh.  Yeah, I saw the posters.  It only took him, what, six months to lose the last group?"

The cleric nodded, frowning.

"Personally, I'm not surprised.  Only a fool would think they could actually complete his addlebrained quest.  It's a ludicrous task.  You ask me, the whole thing's a ploy to scare up new story material."

He thought about that for a moment.

"Maybe.  But the man's a hero, through and through, and his stated quest is just.  What if he could actually pull it off?"

The cleric stared at him.  "Even you wouldn't dare..."

"To save what's left of this wretched continent, instead of firmly resolving to scowl at the problem from afar?  I think I just might."

The paladin turned and headed for the exit, but the cleric called after him.

"Wait! What are you going to do?"

"What Tassada would do, and what we should have been doing all along," he replied with a shrug.  "I'm going to help him, if I can.  Care to join me?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:34, Wed 11 Sept 2013.

In reply to DM (msg # 4):

PROLOGUE - Part 5
Hae'driel, Western Continent

Less than an hour after the paladin had departed alone from the temple, the cleric heard a familiar voice calling her name.  She glanced over in its direction, and took an involuntary step backward as she recognized the voice's owner: Captain Edrahil Silendril.

"When I asked for a moment of your time, my dear, it wasn't actually a question," the man lectured.  There was no sense of playfulness in his tone.

Blushing, she gave the knight a deferential nod of respect.

"Apologies, Lord Captain.  Are you in need of assistance?"

"You tell me," he glowered, jerking his thumb toward the temple's exit.  "I've been hearing unbelievable things.  Things that would have branded the speaker a liar had they not been compelled to remain truthful at the time."

The cleric fidgeted slightly.

"Tell me I'm wrong," Edrahil continued, somehow managing to look even more exasperated than before.  "Tell me that the wayward scion of Silendril hasn't taken after his fool of an uncle to charge headlong into the pages of that bard's lunacy.  Under the banner of the Emerald Flame, no less."

"Is, er, is that an order, Lord Captain?"

"Blast it, girl, what were you thinking?  How could you let him go?"

"With all due respect," she responded, finding her confidence at last, "the Flame has always enjoyed a degree of autonomy in its relationship with the clergy.  Trying to talk any of you out of any righteous cause is a waste of time and energy.  Far better to cast a blessing, say a prayer, and hope for the best."

"A blessing, a prayer, and all the hoping in the world isn't going to be good enough this time.," he snorted. "  As you well know, the Flame cannot abide another blow to its reputation.  Not after the Second Battle of Loe'driel."

"The Flame, Lord Captain, or your family?" she retorted, putting a hand over her mouth in shock immediately afterward.

"I'm... I apologize, Sir Edrahil.  I didn't mean to imply..."

"Stow it.  You've said no more -- and no less -- than anyone else.  That's the problem.  But what's bad for my family is equally bad for the Flame."

He turned his imposing frame toward the cleric, drawing himself to full height.

"And it is the Lord Captain, not the kinsman, who now addresses you.  Find him, and bring him back."

To her credit, the cleric did not shrink away from this intimidating display, but looked up at him coyly.

"And if he's not inclined to return?"

"Oh, I think he will be," he said, eyes softening for the first time of the conversation.  "You see, you won't be dragging him back immediately, kicking and screaming about his duty.  No, you'll be accompanying him on whatever fool's errands Baldwin puts him through, keeping his body and our reputation equally intact throughout the ordeal.  He'll realize the error of his ways soon enough, at which point I'm sure you'll be kind enough to escort him home."

The cleric stared blankly at the knight for moment, masking her rising tide of giddiness at the prospect of a proper adventure in order to adopt the stoic expression the man expected.

"Understood, Lord Captain.  I'll make Tassada proud."

"See that you do."

With that, Sir Edrahil Silendril offered the cleric a curt nod, gave her a final salute, and headed toward the door.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:09, Thu 12 Sept 2013.