Chapter 1: Echoes of the Dead
The sage, Atrocles, was a member of a patrician family whose wealth derived primarily from the cultivation of olives. The younger brother of a prominent senator, Atrocles himself spent his life devoted to academic pursuits and had several dissertations and discoveries of note to his credit. Sufficient have an archeological expedition funded. With scant proof, Atrocles staked his reputation pieces of ancient scrolls, old rural legends, and conjecture.
That expedition's ultimate destination was the troubled village of Greenvale. Located near the border of Drenan and the Young Realms. Several of the Young Realms had recently been at war and now with a recent peace it meant that armies were disbanded and fighting men were without employment. Invariably some turned to banditry, and the region was troubled by bands of robbers accosting travelers and attacking many of the rural communities. Drenan's legions patrolled the roads, but their numbers were few and they were ever over-extended. More, bandits had informants that kept largers and more organized bands apprised of the legions' movements, thwarting many efforts.
Thus, Atrocles took on several mercenaries to safeguard his enterprise. Two wagons loaded with the tools to be used to excavate and dig were his main concern, and the lives of his six apprentices - young sages learning from the master, eager for discoveries that would launch their own careers. The apprentices were all soft, rich sons of rich men with little wordliness, and kept to themselves in the main. It seemed that one of these apprentices - an olive-skinned youth named Persens - was merely there to perform the duty of making Atrocles tea, as the sage was very particular about it.
On the final approach to Greenvale the group had come upon an outlying farmstead, recently raided by a bandit gang. The legion had arrived in time to deliver retribution to these bandits, but not soon enough to save the farmers. Atrocles had engaged the young captain of the cavalry troupe - a petty noble named Lukens - to accompany the group to Greenvale, plying Lukens by playing to the young captain's desire to be perceived as a man of culture. As a military man, he was professional if something of a martinet, however, and the men under Lukens' command comported themselves well.
So the remainder of the journey to Greenvale was completed in relative security. The combined group came upon evidence of a skirmish between some bandits and travelers. The men of the legion found the bandits slain and the sole survivor of the attack being a very disoriented Dusk Elf, whom they brought to join the group and convey to the village of Greenvale.
Upon arrival, Lukens engaged rooms for himself and his men at a local inn and tap house, the Blue Boar, intending to perform patrols for some days before resupplying and moving. Atrocles engaged rooms for the members of his expedition who wished to stay on - some of the mercenaries had signed on only for the journey to Greenvale, and now collected their pay and decided instead to pursue the more lucrative enterprise of bandit hunting.
The headman of the village, a man of advancing middle years named Vors, invited Lukens and Atrocles to dine with him on the evening of arrival. Both accepted, and left their respective underlings more or less to their own devices. Atrocles' apprentices unloaded valuables and retired to their rooms. Persens seemed somewhat lost without the task of making Atrocles tea to occupy his evening, but joined his peers in a truly vapid debate about an opaque philosophical topic. The soldiers of the legion attended to their horses and then engaged in games of dice and drinking without the stern eye of their captain upon them. Their sergeant, Kade, however, was keeping order and ensuring none of the men got too deeply in their cups.
As evening arrived, so did the locals of Greenvale, eager to slake their thirst after the day's labour. There was a small damper on the good spirits of the local folk, however: the local who typically provided entertainment had broken his arm in an accident and could not play his lute, leaving the tap room devoid of its usual music.
One group of labourers stood out among the locals. They were of a rougher mould, coarser in speech, and glanced at the legion men with sour looks. So far they did nothing save murmur among themselves, but with enough drink they might work themselves up to causing troubles. The legion men marked them, and there was an undercurrent of tension in the room.