It is a fine evening in the town of Valarn. The setting sun casts brilliant rays of orange light across the sloping, thatched roofs of the town, which in turn cast their long shadows across the plowed fields beyond. A gentle evening breeze is in the air; chilly but not unpleasant, and the occasional cricket chirps in the grass beside the road. The town is small but not shabby, consisting simply of a main street flanked by sturdy stone or wooden buildings with thatched roofs. The largest of these is a two story wooden building outside which a sign reads 'The Thricehung Bard'. The town hall, general store and the smithy stand beside it. Behind it, down by the river, stands the lumber mill.

A little way out of town stands an old, stone manor. Its walls are completely covered in ivy, and number of tiles are missing from the roof. The garden outside is overgrown and parts of the stone wall beyond have collapsed. The Dranerious Manor. No one lives there anymore, and the townsfolk avoid it if they can. Old Dranerious' son spends all his time in a cabin somewhere in the wood these days. And well he might, the folk all say, given what his father was...

On the other side of town stands a much more well kept manor. The smoke rising from the chimney, combined with the flowering spring garden and neatly trimmed lawn, serve to give it a friendly and welcoming look. Dorin Durendil's Estate. The only dwarf in town (save when one of his many nephews or cousins come to visit), he is well known and well liked for both his generosity and good humor, and equally as a staunch advocate for the poorer members of society.

It is as the last rays of sunlight are retreating over the woods beyond the town that a rider makes his way down the cobbled main street. He is fully armored, with a thick travelling cloak draped loosely about him. He is tall and muscular, with curly, blonde hair. His mount is a destrier stallion of fine breeding; white, tall and strong. The farmers on their way to the local tavern glance at him with looks of awe and wonder. He rides up to the low wooden gate that stands outside the Durendil estate, reigning in his mount and dismounting, before making his way to the polished chestnut door and giving it three sharp knocks.

The door is not opened by Dorin, but rather by a man of medium height and bright red hair.

"Lastergon," he says in a voice that borders on sanity, "We have to stop meeting like this! MWAHAHAHAHA!"

"Curn of a hag," Lastergon groans with a facepalm.

The passage of a few minutes finds Lastergon and P.E.M.W.L.I.T.C.O.T.O.B seated, side by side on the steps leading up to the Durendil manor.