[h1]World Post[/h1]

*Time: mid-afternoon. Around 3-ish.

Watchmen, young lads armed with crossbows, were posted just above the gates- watching the battles to later on report what exactly had happened to the volunteers. Their dual function, as well, was to shoot anyone that could have been overpowered and controlled by a demon. Luckily for these green boys nothing of the sort happened- and when the battles came to their conclusions, they signaled to the guards below to open the gates.

As the gates opened and the survivors made their way inside, they were met by not only guards but horse carts meant for the wounded that could not walk. A priest and a small entourage of religious affiliates stood by, praying for the dead and blessing the wounded. No cheers. No congratulations- for those that saw the carnage that lay beyond the gates were somber despite the victory.

"You are all heroes!" said someone at the gate, "please- visit the Tavern of Heroes and claim your place there. You will be fed and a doctor has been hired to tend to the wounded there."

Many, however, chose to head directly to the clinic and then to their homes-renouncing the life of Hero right there. 

[h3]The Tavern of Heroes[/h3]

Trevant Burnell sat on the bar, reading over the agreement that he had signed with the palace. They had hosted some sort of event that he was meant to agree to accepting the winners of. In fact- they had dropped a whole sack of gold on the exact bar that he sat on that very morning- claiming that it was the payment that these heroes would receive, if they wished to carry on as heroes, of course. Such a strange catch, thought the war veteran, for they had risked their lives- yet would only be paid if they chose to keep risking their lives? won't sit well with some of'em, he thought again, for he knew those who didn't care much for reading between the fine print- that they were the type to throw an axe between yer eyes and take all the gold. He was sure there were a few of those types running around in those that signed up.

The old man wasn't too keen on giving room and board to a bunch of strangers- his establishment was a place of trust- but their bravery was admirable, he had to admit. Anyone that would risk their lives for the Peace was trustworthy enough for him. He glanced at the gold, however, and thought again. It was truly rare to find people interested in something other than their pockets, though. He shook this thoughts from his head- no matter, he would judge these people based on his own gut feeling when he met them.

Trevant had promised that he would provide healing potions and remedies for those that came in- since he believed that providing his own medical treatment bonded people together- it was a kinship tactic he had learned from the war. Your brother was your brother not by the blood you shared but by the wounds that they helped you mend.

He heard the tramping of footsteps- an oncoming crowd- just outside the Tavern. Trevant looked over at his daughter, Lucia, who was cleaning off some of the tables. She caught his eye and nodded, dropping the rag on the table and walking toward the front door to open it.

"Hello and welcome to the Tavern of Heroes!" She chimed with a smile as she looked out at the weary and beaten heroes,

"Who wants some ale?"