Azarah Ulzene - Female Dwarf, Archer, 17 at the time of Green Sun. Founding member of the mercenary group, Moon River.
Cagan Mainchin - Male Gnome, Flintlock wielder, 31 at the time of Green Sun. Founding member of the mercenary group, Moon River.
Arenar Occidere - Male High Elf, Dual Dagger wielder, 17 at the time of Green Sun. Founding member of the mercenary group, Moon River. Despite the abuse he has faced growing up as an involuntary streetfighter in the slums of a High Elven city, he has raised himself to be cultured and is typically polite, though when things get less calm this layer of his personality tends to fade quickly. Has a nervous tick where he places his mother's red scarf up to cover his mouth. The tips of his ears have been cut off, and his face and body display numerous scars from his youth.
Spooks - A mysterious old man, hiding a dark secret that even he doesn't know. Unknown Gender of Unknown Race, Cyromancer and Shapeshifter, Unknown Age at the time of Green Sun. Founding member of the mercenary group, Moon River.
Yvana Reliford - Female Human, Medic and Herbalist. Healer of Oria. 25 at the time of Green Sun.
Uldara Ulzene - Male Dwarf, Sorcerer for Hire, has an intelligent pet Crow named Anzû.
Olyvar ol-Tridon Sinan - Male Sand Elf, leader of the mercenary group known as 'Koko Jambo', Marauder of Oria. Known among his men as 'Mr. President'.
Myklehrion, The Nuclear Angel - Angel of War, accidentally summoned by the citizens of Verdstar.

“Stop lagging behind.” spoke the one-eyed Old Man, his voice raspy even for his advanced age. “We have to reach Verdstar before the storm arrives.” his words enunciated by faraway, albeit, approaching thunder booms looming over the horizon. “Reliford is probably days ahead of us already.

"Oh, relax, Spooks.” replied Azarah Ulzene with a grin, her crimson eyes burning easily through the somewhat thick fog. “I bet she’s laying warm and cosy in a flea-infested tavern bed. And we’ll be too. Besides, even if we end up having to stumble ‘round in the dark, we have Cagan here to light the way for us.” A grunt of acknowledgement came from around knee-height.

“S'foineoidon'tmoind.” uttered the tiny Gnome. His thick, rapid accent laced his words and often made it strenuous for the rest of the group to understand him.

“'Sidesth'gate'sroight'dereo'erdat'illinfrontaya.” he continued, referring to the tip of the town’s wooden walls that now came into view. His manner of speech never failed to make Azarah smile.

The Quartet advanced towards Verdstar’s fortified gate and waited for Arenar, who rapped his fist on it, alerting the town guard that someone was awaiting entry. The inhabitants of Verdstar are rather dubious and wary folk, some say they raised their walls long ago out of consternation of its contiguous and 'envious’ neighbours. The leaders of Verdstar stated that they built those walls to protect the townspeople from the local aggressive wildlife, even though the walls stood long after said fauna had perished.

After a few moments of waiting, a pair of dark eyes encased under a dark and tattered grey hood appeared behind an open sliding peephole. The Guard’s face showed no sign of movement as he scanned the four visitors outside, a flickering torch in the fog throwing shadows over the right side of his face.

“State yer business.” he spat coldly, his leery eyes grimacing under the guise of darkness.

“My fine compatriots and I have been travelling for quite some time. We only need a night or two to stay at the local inn, provided that you have one of course.” replied Spooks.

The Guard’s untrusting stare dug into Spooks’ good eye as he assessed the four. “You lot aren’t mercenaries or bandits, are you? You look like ones…” the Guard said, his deep voice laced with uncertainty and skepticism.

“Well of course not!” lied Azarah, feigning exasperation. “Why would a bunch of violent mercenaries have a seventeen year old girl like myself, and a gnome with them? No offense, Cagan…” she said, glancing down at the Gnome before snapping her gaze back to the set of floating eyes.

“'Sfoine, Ahzar.” he mumbled expeditiously.

The Guard spoke up again in protest. “What about your weapons, I mean you’ve got a bow yourself. How do I know you won’t start looting the place once I let you in?”

Azarah sighed out of frustration. “Ugh, if you’re that paranoid, then I’ll hand over my bow and Cagan’s… uh… 'devices’ for safe keeping. Deal?”

Suddenly the Guard’s eyes disappeared as the sliding peephole slammed shut, leaving the group in the dark fog.

“I swear if he doesn’t open the gate right now, I’m going to shi-” whispered Azarah under her breath, trailing off as the heavy wizened wooden doors finally opened with a long, grinding creak against the floor.

_____________________________________

Arenar Occidere gently handed Azarah’s and Cagan’s weapons over to the guard, whose eyes were clouded by suspicion, accompanied by a glare that shot right through him.

“Right, that’s Aza’s bow and arrows, and Cagan’s flintlocks. All that’s left to hand over is these…” the High Elf unsheathed his twin daggers and flipped them so the owl-shaped hilts were facing the guard who steadily and apprehensively took the weapons.

“What about him.” asked the guard, nodding towards Spooks.

“The old man? He’s harmless. We three are the only ones armed.” Arenar ensured with a smile. His smile slowly diminished when he noticed that, for the first time since they had arrived, the guard was grinning sardonically, sending shivers that ran up and down the Elf’s spine.

“Uh… right then. May we be on our way?” entreated Arenar anxiously. All hostility that the guard previously effused suddenly dissipated, being replaced with a curiously peculiar smirk.

“Why, of course. You and your companions are free to go.” he said, smirk still present. “If you still want to spend a night at our inn, then head towards the main square, and take a right at the building with our flag hanging from its spire.” the guard instructed, raising his hand, his tattered robe dangling from his arm, to point at the spire enshrouded by the fog. “Once you depart, you may have your weapons back.”

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Heeding the guard’s rather aloof instructions, the quartet finally arrived at Verdstar’s lone inn. A short yet robust structure composed of wood and thatch stood imposingly against the contrasting stone constructs that surrounded it. Approaching the inapposite and odd building a noticeable lack of voices and hearty laughs was duly noted by the perplexed group. Normally, inns would be roaring with a drunken slur of words and the booming laughters echoing throughout.

The first thing they noticed upon entering the inn was the stillness of the air, no warmth and laughter could be heard instead replaced with silent murmuring and hushed whispers as the wary eyes gathered around the quartet. The smell of food and liquor were also absent which seemed to indicate that the place was about to close. The inn looked more like a tavern, with a row of benches nested under oak tables of similar length lined against the wall furthest away from the entrance. Scattered here and there were a few small circular tables in the centre of the room.

The establishment didn’t appear to be very busy, with only a few patrons with their faces buried in their drinks, as if they were trying their hardest to ignore the newcomers.

“Hey, Old Man, can we afford to get some food for ourselves?” a peckish Arenar inquired, starving for a bowl of soup.

Spooks searched the deep pockets of his robes until his wrinkled hands grabbed a handful of small blue coins. “Sure, go on, but you better get Aza and Cagan something too.” he handed over the coins, his voice a whisper. “You know how grumpy they can get.”

Arenar chuckled, taking the coins and began to trek towards the innkeeper. Walking along, he noticed a few eyes gathering on him, voices ever so hushed and silent. The stares naturally perturbed the nervous teenager, who already placed his scarlet scarf over his mouth. The overbearing gazes made him hasten his speed from a casual walk to light and swift steps.

Approaching the innkeeper, his visage was that of a hardy veteran. Scratches and lacerations were strewn all over his exposed skin. A gash extended over his right eye to his lower cheek, making his eye unusable. The wrinkles on his face showed that he is past his prime, and his glum and wistful expression showed one yearning for something.

Arenar only got more nervous, a bead of sweat dripping down his head and onto his scarf. As he got close, the one good eye of the innkeeper focused sharply towards the boy,

“What’ll it be?” the innkeeper bellowed concisely, his fierce stare resting on the boy increasing his tension.

“S-Soup and cider, please…” he stuttered, meekly placing the blue coins on the counter, “Make it three…”

With a raised eyebrow, the innkeeper took the blue coins and disappeared into the kitchen. The following moments felt like years, with the protruding gawks towards the young man. His face slowly inching inside his scarf. As soon as the innkeeper came back with the tray of food, Arenar speedily took the tray and practically jogged towards the table of his group.

As soon as he was seated, Azarah began to laugh at him, “You looked like a damned kitten.” she said in between spoonfuls of potato and leek soup.

Arenar blushed slightly and hissed “Shut it, minchia.” as he began to grab his food and slowly chew. Azarah smiled slyly at him as she knew she would never let him live this down.

“Enough, you two.” grumbled Spooks, clearly tired of their bickering. “When we’re finished here, we’ll get our rooms. Aza, you’re with me, Cagan and Arenar will be in the room next to us.” He looked around, setting his good eye at the other three. “Agreed?”

And they did.

_____________________________________

“Azarah, lock that door.” Spooks sternly instructed tersely, lowering the tattered cowl of his frayed robe.

With a click, Azarah turned around opening her shut eyes slowly and mentally preparing herself for what was about to happen. Wisps of black mist began swirling precariously around Spooks’ head before swiftly engulfing it in a deep, pitch black orb. The onyx orb suddenly expanded outwards and dissipated into dark smoke with a soft sizzle, revealing a sight that still managed to perturb Aza despite her being accustomed with the bizarre process.

Instead of the usual face of an old man, with a short grey beard, a solitary blue eye and an eyepatch she was met with nothing but a black skull with one empty socket, the other housing an eye that emanated a crimson glow. The comfortable warmth that permeated the room was immediately enwreathed by the biting cold that quickly enveloped it.

“You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that. I still feel nervous every single time you do that…” she said timidly, clasping her apparel more firmly as a result of the sudden shift in temperature, with each passing second her breath became slowly became visible to the naked eye.

Spooks cackled, despite his lack of lips.
“Oh, relax, Aza.” he said, somehow speaking with her voice, his jaw opened slightly, in semblance of a smile.

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered, or terrified…” the dwarf said, astonished.

“Either is fine.” he said, his voice reverting to his usual tone, sauntering to the end of their room. “I’m joking by the way.” he stated, placing a skeletal hand on the water jug that had been left out for them. He sighed coarsely, before pouring some of the water into a cup.. “I never got to thank you, you know. Sorry about that.”

“Th-thank me for what?” she asked, a surprised tone lacing her words.

“For keeping my secret.” he whispered, handing Azarah the cup.

“About that…” pausing to take a small sip from the cup before continuing, “I really think we should tell Arenar and Cagan. I mean, Cagan might strap you down and try and figure out what the Hel you are… Still, they should know.”

Spooks laughed again. “Well then, Cagan would be doing me a favour.” he said, laggardly sighing for a moment before continuing “Azarah, I have no idea who, let alone what, I am. If we tell them, please, it needs to be me who does it… Okay?”

Azarah nodded in agreement.

Spooks placed his hand gently on Azarah’s shoulder. The bony hand was unsuprisingly devoid of any warmth and felt so cold that she could identify the intense frozen grip on her shoulder even through the thick layers of her clothing. “You’re the only person I can trust, especially here.” As if to enunciate his words, the muffled crackle of thunder accompanied by the harrowing and eerie wind battered the walls of the inn, slightly shaking the lightsource of a nearby candle. The storm finally now hitting Verdstar. “Get some rest.” he said, releasing his icy grip. “We ask around for Reliford first thing in the morning.”