The World of Varen was spectacular, filled with many wonders that many couldn't hope to see. It claimed a vast sea and two brother continents, which had, over two centuries before, been one continent. Now, after a cataclysm heralded as The Rift, the one continent was split apart by one of a race so elusive, they would give the elves a run for their gold. A Straid, children of the gods, had used accursed magic from the most foul of realms, aptly named the Dark Realm, to split the continent, also named Varen, at the very center of the continent. A place where the elves had built their grand city. Varen, and it's brother continent, Kaven, sat on opposite ends of Varen, with means of travel between the two very dangerous and perilous. And, it is Kaven where our tale begins.

Garvantilus Tanis Elgot stood amidst the ever-reaching hills that separated the bustling town of Karn, from his destination, Fotanev. To Garv, Fotanev wasn't really that special. Having been born in the Calltraan forests, Garv had the advantage of seeing the great Elven city, Caeraan, though it was reduced to rubble almost two centuries prior. And, since leaving his home, he had seen his fair share of adventure. There was almost nowhere Garv hadn't gone. He'd visited the Dwarven capital, Mt. Zantrii in the Daltron Mountains, the Toltris Ravine in the Utra Plains, all on Varen. He'd only recently traveled across Kaven, and had explored the reaches of two kingdoms of Kaven. Between Riversand Kingdom, where the humans primarily lived, and Flinaar Kingdom, where the Straids made their home, he'd had a lot to keep busy.

However, there were two places even Garv feared to go. One of these was the large Kingdom south of Kaven, named Tolek. Years ago a large group of cannibals had started claiming land to form their illicit kingdom from the port town of Kani. The other was the no-man's-land to the north-east. The land was named Chaon after the rumors that had circulated about the evil that hid there. Most didn't believe in it, but left it alone out of the off chance that the rumors were true. Garv left Chaon alone because he always felt eerie when he was near there.

After countless days of traveling through the hilly terrain between Karn and Fotanev, Garv found himself standing at the winding path that led to the immaculate oak gates. Fotanev was a small town that, in normal situations, would have been passed by for the larger city of Savell somewhat to the west of Fotanev. However, in recent circumstances, Fotanev was anything, but normal. It was a town widely sought after for the fame of the White Hart Inn, who made the acclaimed 'nectar of the gods' Carran Ale. At least that was why most people entered the town. Garv, however, was here on mere chance. During his travels, he had overheard a squad of goblins while nestled in a tree, resting. The goblins had spoken of someone amassing an army to conquer Kaven.

So, as it was, Garv was traveling to Fotanev to both seek information, and to obtain the provisions to make the long trek to the ruins of Caeraan. Half of the ruins, anyway. Without stopping, Garvantilus set through the gates, and took the right of three forks to make his way to the White Hart Inn. He would both need somewhere to stay for the night, as well as a place where people were loose of tongue. And, what better place than an Inn famous for its alcohol?

The door creaked as Garv stepped into the Inn. Instantly his eyes and ears were barraged by what lay within. At the front sitting at the bar, a rowdy group was trying to get a free drink off of a barmaid. Instantly something seemed off about that group to Garv. They seemed almost misshapen, though their cloaks and hoods made it hard to tell. In the far corner of the Inn, a couple of drunkards were attempting to engage in a fist fight, without much luck, gathering from how they kept tripping before they could even land a punch. And everywhere else was just way too loud. Of course it was all fairly typical for a bar, but Garv tended to stay away from such scenes. Before he would ask for information, Garv decided to watch the scene first, so he pulled his hood up, making sure to cover his ears, he'd much prefer to not gain unwanted attention, before slipping into a table near the drunken fighters. That way he would be able to watch as much as he can, and listen in on some conversations as well.

Arach Drevis
Arach walked along the small street through Fotanav, getting strange looks from most of the passersby. The Friitan was a rare sight in the small town. As he headed along the way, gently nudging people out of his way with his foreclaws as he went toward the market area, he passed the White Hart Inn. He stopped and glanced inside seeing some of the rowdy patrons. He'd heard about the White Hart and it's ale but alas, even if he wanted to, he could not enter as the door was too small, and short of breaking down a wall he had no other means of entry. He moved along with a sigh heading the rest of the way up to the market. Once there he looked around for a short time before finding an open space and, with a nod toward the Savaal stallkeeper that wasn't trying to shoo him away, he settled down. The packs and bags on his back clanked with the sudden shift and he propped his staff on the ground and against his shoulder, leaning on it. The position allowed him to act as a sort of makeshift stall, able to sell the odd and ends he's acquired in his travels right off his back as well as letting him rest his legs. He turned and opened a few of the bags so the items could be seen and His tail hovered over them to deter any would-be thieves.

Ramsys Haval
Ramsys pulled a few coins out of the small cloth bag on his belt and placed them on the stall counter before accepting the small sack of supplies. He'd stopped in the small town of Fotanev. With no current job he had no set destination but would continue west after a day or so if he didn't get tied up in anything before then. He turned away from the stall and began slithering along until he saw a Friitan that appeared to be setting himself up as a stall and a small trinket in one of it's bags caught his eye and he went up for a closer look, going so far as to lean on the Scorpion-man for a better examination. He kept staring at it until a grunt from the Friitan got his attention and he looked up to see the shopkeep watching him. He picked up the trinket and moved closer to the Human half of the man to pay for it. The exchange went on without a word and once it was done Ramsys went on his way with the little trinket down the street a bit to the White Hart. He headed inside and went along the edge of the room to avoid the drunken fight in the corner before slipping into a table off to the side. While sitting there he went between fiddling with the small necklace he'd bought or watching the fight across the room for entertainment.

Among the many types of people to enter the Whit Hart Inn came a rather plain, if not slightly unkempt looking fellow wearing a deep scowl upon his face. Perhaps the only things that would have given anyone pause with this man would have been the startling yellow shade of his eyes, the sack filled with various furs that he carried on his back, and the fact that the fur lined jacket that he wore was immaculately clean despite the rest of his person sporting the look of a man whom had spent time sleeping in a cave. This man went by the name of Jacque, though that was hardly important at the moment. What was important was the fact that Jacque was rather pissed.

After having spent the last week on a hunting expedition and bagging himself a rather sizable elk and a few foxes of varying colors, he'd returned in hopes of making a profit from the parts of the animals that he had no use for. What meat he didn't keep for himself after drying it all was sold off to one of the local butchers, and the bones sold to some merchants to do with them whatever they saw fit, be it to turn them into tools or grind them up for medicine. As he lacked either the space or need for those items the gods had chosen to allow this to pass, however they swiftly changed their tunes when Jacque was offered a sizable amount of cash for the furs he had. Jacque had been mere moments from sealing the deal when he'd begun to here the unintelligible whispers of Slyvania in his ears. For the life of him the huntsman still could not understand the elven tongue that she used, however over the years he'd come to understand that she only stepped in to warn him that he was about to do something that would anger her. After being forced to cancel the deal, Jacque had taken it upon himself to visit the inn in the hopes that a stiff drink or two would help soothe his displeasure over the loss of profit and perhaps help him figure out what to do with the pelts.

Jacque grumbled something under his breath as he took in the atmosphere of the Inn before he slipped his bag from his shoulders and claimed a small table near the bar. His seating secure, Jacque allowed his eyes to wander a bit as he waited for the barmaid to slip away from the rowdy drunks crowding her so that she could take the orders of other patrons. At first nothing struck the huntsman as particularly interesting, there were the usual sights: drunken brawlers, lechers trying to get into the skirt of the female workers or patrons by lowering their inhibitions with drinks, and an adventurer or two looking to brag about their exploits. All fairly normal, nothing worth a second glance.

Garvantilus cast his eyes around the corners of the room, his eyes narrowing curiously at the new entrance to the bar. The man's clothes conflicted him himself. Despite the clean clothes, he looked as if he'd been lost in the woods for an extended period of time. He had no time for such thoughts, as curiosity wasn't the reason he was here. At least not that particular curiosity. He turned his attention back to the misshapen people, who had given up on getting a free drink or anything else, and begun making their way to a private booth near him. He could clearly see under their hood, the green warty skin, the yellow eyes. They were goblins. He leaned back in his chair, tying to look inconspicuous, while at the same time revealing a portion of his right ear so he could hear the conversation. Despite this, he didn't hear much, just snippets.

"What news of... ...will it be ours?" One of the goblins asked his voice gravelly as if he was straining to speak normally, while the other two goblins looked around at the Inn, trying to make sure no one was listening. Satisfied, they turned back and spoke "Gained a lot of money... ...supporters... ...north of here." The first goblin nodded, a grim smile etching itself onto his lips, before fading slightly as he asked a second question, "And what... ...the sword?" The third goblin reached it's grubby hands into a pouch, before pulling out a map, and pointing to three locations, "Still... ...impossible to... ...all"

Garvantilus frowned. This was his chance to get answers, that was to be sure. He got, up from his seat pretending to be a drunken fool, before wandering over to the Goblins' booth. "Hello chaps!" Garv said cheerily, before motioning as if he was going to walk past, yet instead faked a stumble and landed in the only empty seats. Instantly his face was stone, a glare at each of the goblins. He quickly drew a dagger, trying to keep it concealed from the masses, while making sure they could see it. "You have information I want," he started. Garv knew goblins, they only reacted to two things; gold and threats, "So here's how this'll work. We're going to meet outside, and you're going to give me this information. Now, to appeal to your sense of greed, I have a pouch containing one-hundred dwarven gold coins." Immediately the goblin's eyes lit up. Most of the world used the human's gold coins as currency as they were more common, but Dwarves put their heart and soul into everything they forged, so naturally Dwarven coins were more valuable and rare, and each coin was worth about twenty of human-forged coins. It was all he had, but he was willing to give it up for this information. He could always do some odd jobs for someone to earn a bit of gold.

Garvantilus left the inn and into the small crowds crowds of the market nearby. With anyone in the area bartering, they would be left alone. He spun around to face the goblins, a stern edge to his voice. "If you answer my questions without me needing to ask twice, you'll get the pouch of dwarven gold. If I do have to ask twice I'll leave one person alive to answer my questions when I kill you in five minutes." With a measly "Yes" from the goblins he began to ask "What is your master's plans?" In that same gravelly voice the first goblin spoke, "To take over all of Kaven, and then Varen. You humans will fall, the elves will fall, all creatures except those that worship the master will fall."

Garvantilus smiled slightly at their somewhat misconception. "And the sword?" The third goblin answered this time "We don'ts know what it is. Just that the master wants us to get a sword that's in three pieces, but they're impossible to get to." Garv narrowed his eyes, the goblin was telling the truth... unfortunately. He held out his hand expectantly, "The map." The goblins looked back frightfully, yet hesitant, but finally relinquish after Garv's hand fell to the dagger that was back in it's sheath.

"Thank you. Now... I believe five minutes have passed, but one final question. Where's north of here?" Garvantilus tucked the map into a larger leather pack, his eyes reflecting amusedly. "The army." Two words. Just two words, yet they sent him into a state of shock. "How far? Which direction?" When they refused to answer, he grabbed one of them by the tunic, yelling "ANSWER!" The goblin quivered before stammering out "A-a-at C-cassis' temple. H-heading w-w-west." Once Garv let go, the goblin cowered behind the other two goblins. "Five minutes is up." Garv unsheathed his dagger, flicking it upwards lodging into the neck of the first goblin, before slicing to the left and stabbing the second goblin in the heart. He wiped the blood off of the blade with his tunic, a grimace set on his face. He turned to the cowering goblin before speaking. "Run to Karn. Unless you want me to hunt you down, run to Karn, and warn them of what's coming their way." Without another word the goblin took off and ran, as Garv walked back into the inn, nothing to show for the conflict except the blood at the base of his tunic.

She had found something in Fotanev - something that had been rare in the roads. A worthy opponent whom had bested her in swordplay. It was a day after the duel and the cut Ramia had gotten to the side of her mouth had healed surprisingly well. To her it was a token of pride - even though it gave her a bit of a half smile. As the Raven of Kastagir enjoyed the fine ale of the White Hart Inn she silently contemplated on the long road ahead of her. If even in a relatively small town like Fotanev had the occasional swordsman who'd beat her with relative ease how would she survive in a real battle?

She took a little sip of ale and continued her ponderings while occasionally taking a little glance around herself - as if to make sure the bar fight wasn't moving towards her. Patrons came and went, every time a new patron would ener the Inn Ramia would examine them from afar - as if measuring them up.

As he had taken to strumming his fingers rhythmically on the table he sat at, Jacque watched with rapidly declining interest as patrons of all shapes and sizes entered and exited the inn. As the group that had been heckling the barmaid for free drink and food began to give up and either pay or move elsewhere, Jacque arose from his seat and stretched his muscles to alleviate a bit of stiffness before dropping his bag into the seat he'd chosen and making his way over to the bar.For a second Jacque could swear he saw a gleam of apprehension in the barmaid's gaze as he made his way over to her. It was not all that surprising to him, after all, if the ale here was indeed as good as people claimed it to be, then it was only natural that there would be a few people looking to get a free pint. Adventurers were especially notorious for this, always looking to receive one free service or another for a tale of their exploits and heroic deeds. Jacque cared little for adventurers, just as he cared little for wasting his time by trying to worm a free drink from the shrewd looking woman. The huntsman produced a small leather pouch from his coat and opened it up before he spoke in a deep and rumbling voice not unlike the rumbling of thunder in the distance, "How much would a pint of ale and a meat an' potato pie cost?".