From the highest parapet facing the city of Masondain, the shrill call of a ram’s horn pierces the hubbub of city life. The marketplace suddenly goes silent. The guardsman and the urchin he’s chasing both stop in their tracks and stare upwards. In the Sword and Board the half-remembered bawdy songs fade back to sighs as the seasoned adventures look down and remove their hats in respect.

The oldest man in the S & B, so thin he can barely stand shoots up from his stool at the head of the bar and shouts through his rotting teeth.

“EXEMPLAAAR!”

Two of his companions pull him back down.

“Silence you old fool!”

Creston straightens up in his chair and removes his hat. Somehow, he still remembers that this gesture of respect is important.

In reply to Creston Fairwood (msg # 2):

The old man tries to get up again.

"The Baron needs us!"

The dwarven bartender stares at him, exasperated.

"There's only Exemplar left in the Barony who can still lift a shield is the Baron's daughter, and you know it! And she's -still- missing!"

In reply to DM (msg # 3):

Sasar, continuing to stand still and remaining ever observant, frowns at the sound of the horn. What an awful sound...

"What happened to the Baron’s daughter, If I may ask? How did she end up being missing? I’m not familiar with the story - or if I am, I don’t recall it right now..."

In reply to Uringizel (msg # 4):
The dwarven bartender takes a deep breath.

"Why am I always the one who has to do the expositions?"

He pulls a  hand axe out from under the bar and lays it on the table, then points at the bard.

"Keep yer sad violin in yer case! So much as one peep outta you and you'll be fiddlin' with yer toes an' blowin your flute out the side a yer NECK! Ya hear me Little Strummer Boy?"

The ragged man in back  with the recorder looks offended, and he picks up several instruments under his arms and kicks the barroom door open and storms out.

The servant of the Wandering God glanced up and meant to turn and look at the crier, but in order to do so, he had to shift himself in his seat. Beholding perhaps the one person in the place older than himself, Regdoc payed special attention. After all, he was wont to frequently expound on the virtues of time-ripened wisdom.

"Eh? Exemplar you say? You Exemplar?" Not wanting to risk losing his seat, the old cleric shouted raspily back across the common room.

From the highest parapet facing the city of Masondain, the shrill call of a ram’s horn pierces the hubbub of city life.

Looking up from absolutions so rudely interrupted, Least Brother Brodd's face moves from confusion to annoyance.  What was that noise?  Invaders?  Pirates spotted out to sea?  Nothing like that had happened in Masondain in the young acolyte's lifetime, so had no idea what was going on.

Collecting his humble brown robe and hustling to confer with fellows and superiors, Brodd learns it is a call to arms, of a sort.  But what sort?  Were priests allowed to get involved?  Perhaps he could volunteer somehow!

In reply to Brother Brodd (msg # 7):

An elder deacon arrives.

“Our Order and the Order of Valor have been allies from the first days written. They are the Sword of Law and we are the Shield. Brodd. The horn stirs your soul, I see. Go to the castle gates and fulfil your destiny. Remember you wear our robes and represent us at all times.”

The deacon places a blessing on your head and gives you a vial of holy water from his pouch.

“Bright travels ahead, young Brother. Always walk towards the Light.”

[Exeunt]

In reply to Regdoc (msg # 6):

“Yes I was! Such glorious years riding bathed in virtue! And a day doesn’t go by where I regret surrendering my tabard!”

The old knight slams down the rest of his drink.

“The daughter of the Baron. Lady Starshell. She heard the Call. The first new Exemplar squire with no Knight in standing left to train her. But she was already engaged to the Earl of Braustein’s boy.”

He pulls out a knife and digs into a small metal plaque on his barstool.

“Two weeks ago messengers arrived saying Braunstein was being overrun by orcs and goblinkin. A druid’s grove was overrun and it’s keepers slain. And the page swore he saw a -Minotaur- rampaging through the castle.”

He pulls out the plaque and tosses it on the table nearest your party.

“Starshell took his father’s armor and holy sword and rode off to rescue her betrothed. Heck of a role reversal, eh?”

He taps the plaque with his finger.

“If she’s alive, rescue her. If she fell, bury her and recover the sword. Slay the Minotaur if you can, before it musters the humanoids and sends them towards us. Do that and these seats are yours.”

He starts walking out.

“Our band was called the Giant’s Gauntlet. I’m sure you’ll pick your own name to engrave on these seats.”

He picks up his cane leaning by the front door and shakily wanders out into the hushed city streets.

"I have the strangest feeling that I have answered the call, before." Creston stands up and puts his hat backon. "My healer said I should try to find my self by reliving old experiences. Perhaps this is what she meant."