The Lowlands was a lot of things in Terrenum. It was a cultural and ethnic melting pot. It was a region perpetually confused about its identity. It was forever overshadowed by its neighbors. However, when people thought of trade, they thought of Gallant - the heart of the Lowlands and arguably the largest single city on the continent.

Those who live in this city for an extended length of time know it as River City. Its name was officially changed by the church (at some nebulous point in the past) in order to honor the heroes of the land. Since then, its name was shortened simply to Gallant.

Gallant's geological advantages are significant. The city sits at the mouth of an elaborately carved estuary which provides it with a significant natural breakwater for shipping. Its river is fed by the many tributaries from the Highlands to the West. The rich arable land throughout the Lowlands are perfect for farming communities. Since most bodies of water lead to Gallant, this makes the city a natural trading hub.

Gallant is not without its flaws. Sanitation has been a considerable issue. The standard of living continues to improve with the implementation of advanced plumbing and sanitary technologies, however, this is an ongoing process. Additionally, the Church of Our Goddess maintains a strong presence in the city and are able to aid in matters of spirit and health; their churches often double as clinics across Terrenum.

The city was never as cleanly planned out as some of its neighbors. Its patterns of growth can be marked by the ever-expanding patterns of walls from the initial settlement. The newer areas are, of course, typically much more modern and better planned. Some of the inner walls were removed to repurpose the materials and create more space. As a result, the defenses and layout of the city as a whole seem eclectic and arbitrary. It is also a fairly spread-out city lacking in buildings taller than two stories. The tallest structures in Gallant, aside from its formidable walls and attached guard houses, are the central keep, the main church and the warehouses at the docks.

The wealthier districts are located near the main keep (the most defensible position in the city, being as it is behind many concentric layers of walls) and near the outer layers of walls. The slums and lower-income housing tend to be between the two, where the buildings and infrastructure lack the careful planning of new construction and have yet to be rebuilt to modern standards.

People in the Lowlands lack a unified cultural identity in part because of Caerbea, far to the South. The region has long been a tributary to the powerful city state. Thanks to a powerful military patrolling its territory and a remarkably relaxed set of governing laws for its vassals, most citizens of the Lowlands enjoy a relatively safe and uninhibited existence. While a "noble" class does exist to some degree, the Caerbean tendency toward meritocracy and emphasis on strength and trade has enabled an odd Capitalist approach to life in the region. Since Caerbea ostensibly owns the land, the "upper class" tend to be successful businessmen instead of hereditary nobility.

The primary reason that the Lowlands does not outproduce its neighbors in food is simply because of their dependency on walls. In the earlier days of Terrenum, most settlements needed formidable defenses not from their rivals but instead from monsters. Caerbean military presence and a sprawling industry of adventuring guilds have markedly reduced the threat of monsters to the point that new farms are being built without walls. However, this level of safety is fairly recent and habits die hard.

As part of the terms of their vassalage, no governing entity in the Lowlands is allowed to have a standing army. Mercenary and adventuring guilds, however, are encouraged. While this system has its problems (and the issues are many), it does effectively decentralize and reduce the military potential of the region.

Here is where you come in...

How you ended up here is of little concern. The important part is that you, adventurer, work for a guild named the Shield Brethren of River City. You carry a copper token stylized with the guild's standard; a shield over a river feeding into a greater body of water. Despite its name, the guild is neither religious nor unisex - however, the influence of the Church of Our Goddess is ever present and the vast majority of its members are male.

You find yourself in the heart of the city bordering the slums and the lower class residential areas toward the outer walls. Rent is much cheaper here and the smell isn't so bad. There is a modest amount of coin in your pocket and you, for whatever reason, have yet to find your own home and therefore stay at the guild barracks for now. Your livelihood depends on completing tasks for the guild master.

Today, at about mid-day, a runner finds you wherever you are in the city. You are informed that the Guild Master has a special task for you. During this time of turmoil, so soon after Iron Harbor was attacked, you can well imagine what tasks you might be sent to accomplish! Not only that, but you may be able to meet the guild's illusive headmaster for the first time.

What will you do next, adventurer?

E Z L A N
On the streets now heading to the guild

With a heavy ‘THUD’ the third consecutive body came out crashing down to the hard dusty bustling road very unceremoniously. Crowds and passerby’s began to pause and gathered to watch the sudden commotion with curiosity and a slight selfish interest.

With a groan, the latest body to be added to the street managed to pull himself back together and regain his knees. In doing so, a shiny copper coin escaped his grasp, slipping from his fingers it rolled out, bouncing its way across the sand and dirt travelling further and further away. Finally its journey came to a end, hitting the toe of a bystanders sturdy worn boot it gently ricocheted back and fell into a spiral before eventually settling down on the spot. Now flat on its side a familiar and well known symbol was exposed to the bright sky above, that of a river winding beneath a shield.

With a sigh, the boots owner, a guild message runner in hooded travel garb, quickly knelt down and picked it up.
”How many this time?” they asked in a quiet harsh whisper, quickly hiding the guild token from anyone else’s view. Frustration and amusement entwined together within their voice.

“Three” The man kneeling on the floor replied roughly with a battered cough. Slowly he brought himself to stand, gradually and steadily stretching out his limbs as he did, giving the odd wince of pain as he tested his mobility and movement. Standing just above average height and of a solid muscular build. His skin kissed from the sun and marred with the faint marks of old scars, was highly exposed under his loose open common dockhand garbs. He had short disheveled dark hair with a beard to match and piecing intense eyes that held capability of a ferocity and playfulness both.
A wicked and dangerously charming smile took his face revealing a full row of white teeth stained with blood, sitting behind his split, bruised lower lip. He dust himself off and rolled his neck from side to side letting out a loud crunching sound.

“Three, is that all? You’re losing your touch.” The messenger replied in a soft quiet voice while cautiously watching the two men still on the floor and the other five tightly packed in and around the taverns exit, trying to look as intimidating as they could while nervously waiting to see what would happen next.

“I thought I did pretty well for myself.” He said proudly.
“Two of ‘em were sisters, ‘en’ I think the other someone’s daughter or wife.” Of course, this guy wasn’t counting the number of men he was fighting but instead was more focused on the woman he was bedding. What a man chose to measure showed where his priorities lay.

The messenger seemed slightly aggravated by this last remark, maybe even a little insulted. With a huff they fell back their hood, purposely revealing a head of long luscious burgundy red hair. She bore a noticeably pretty face, light skin with some gentle freckles across her cheeks, soft plump lips and the most sky blue eyes ever seen. Beneath the protective layered runners outfit she was fit in frame albeit slightly thin from a life time of eating just barely enough. Because of this she still held the body shape of a younger girl. But a girl nonetheless.
With the effects of her display and the point of her theatrics going seemingly unnoticed, she grumbled and growled. “Ezlan! “Your presence is requested back at the guild.” She snapped, delivering her intended message.

“Yup wife.” Ezlan confirmed to himself, ignoring the messenger as he leant over one of the unconscious men, checking his pulse and lifting up his hand.
“Well I guess he won’t be needing this anymore.” He said with a proud self-amused chuckle as he removed the unconscious mans wedding ring. “You gave it a good try, may the Maiden bless your efforts with new opportunities for honour.” Pocketing the ring he nonchalantly let the mans arm fall heavily to the floor as he walked on by.

The messenger noticing the men at the tavern growing increasingly restless with Ezlans presence and antics, while the women at the windows swooning at the glass only making matters worse, she swiftly added to her previous sentence,
“It may have something to do with that Iron Harbour attack.” She blurted out desperately.

Finally this caught Ezlan’s attention, the messenger sighed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank god.’ She whispered to herself under her breath. “I’ll accompany you.” She announce loudly, trying to hurry along the Carebean brawler to the guild before he could get himself into any more trouble. Undoubtedly aware of the carnage and mess most likely left within the tavern from which they were walking away from.

"More please, barkeep" a lightly inebriated Eomer muttered, pleading once again for another glass of something, a reward for a successful adventure. Wasn't too much of a reward in fairness. It was dark and windowless, half the floorboards were rotting away, but it was cheap and it reminded him of home (whether that was a good or a bad thing however is a totally different arguement).

It being mid day the tavern itself was rather quiet with very few staff and about just as many patrons, exactly as he liked it: peaceful. No fights, no drunks shouting; just peace, quiet and relaxed conversation. One thing however that caught Eomer's attention (as the barman filled a stoup and laid it before him), ears picking up as he heard the word "Reaper" whispered by a pair of men sat on a table in the corner.

"The Reaper heading towards the Lowlands, towards Gallant? Arlo, bloody fool, you drink too much and listen too little" a deep laugh boomed from a table in the corner, followed quickly by the thud of a tankard slamming into the table. A hand waved in the air as he signalled to one of the staff for another as he continues to berate his companion. "Even if he did come here, he would be nothing without his crew. That" he continued, an apprehensive look momentarily danced across his face, "and the guilds would have heard much more than a standard run of the mill drunkard; I'm sure if someone had truly heard something the news would be all over town, not just being spread by any gullible idiot" he finished somewhat dismissively, pooh poohing any other remarks made by his friend.

A small notebook emerged from below a faded cloak, slightly yellowed and stained from age with a cover battered far worse than most. The guildsman flicked through it quietly to a page towards the back and scrawled a small series of notes across page with the simple title of "Reeper leeds", or at least that's what it appeared to be anyway, Eomer being far from the most literate person in Gallant. "Town Rms..." he muttered quietly to himself, a quick glance at the two in the corner before continuing with "Dok worker" and "toward Galant". With that, Eomer downes tbe last of his drink, slipping the book back into his pocket. He withdrew a half dozen silvered coins, which he placed on the bar and gently pushed towards the owner, muttering a quiet "thank you" before making his retreat towards the door.

The door catching his ankle caused the badlander to stumble slightly, caught by an attentive man in rather familiar dress. "Again? You're here again?" He asked, seeming rather exasperated, "you're getting ripped off, how many times need you be told he laces the booze with pig urine? There is a reason no one drinks there, especially our lot".

"I've had worse, and gotten much less drunk" Eomer replied with a small laugh, the runner contorting his face into a look of disgust, almost seeming to wince at the thought,imagining way too vividly about what his fellow guildman may have drunk in his time. Eomer steadied himself against the youth, taking a step back as to not linger so close to his face. "I'm assuming you're here for a reason? You don't normally come to find me unless it is urgent" he asked, brushing off the dust that had gathered on his clothes from the filthy inn.

"You are wanted at the hall. Several of you have been called to a meeting: Loran, you, Ezlan, Nemia... oh, and the elf" he added, almost as an afterthought.

"Sera? The short one with the weird crossbow?"

"No, Erevan"

He sighed. "And when am I needed, can it wait till morning?" Eomed asked hopefully. Ideally he wanted to let the alcohol leave his system, or at the very least his breath before any sort of official meeting.

"I'm afraid not. I was told to find you and take you to the hall myself. They almost seemed to expect you'd be drinking and wanted to make sure someone made sure you made it there without falling into a ditch" he said with a slight smirk.

Eomer extended his arm in a very exaggerated fashion, dagger catching the light and glistening as he raised his cloak. "Lead on then".

---

Strange looks followed the two men as they walked barefoot down the city street, sopping wet from head to toe, slightly muddy and playfully shoving each other as they walked, the only relatively dry items in their possession were the boots they were carrying in their hands, otherwise even the fishing rod slung over the one’s shoulders was dripping water! Unphased by their wet state and the looks they were receiving, Loran and his friend continued on their way, laughing as they exchanged jokes about the others’ incompetence as a fisherman.

Honestly, when Loran had bumped into Teagen early that morning and the later had invited him to join him on his fishing trip by one of the rivers on the outskirts of the city, neither was planning on jumping in. The wettest they thought they’d get was their feet when they ventured deeper in on the narrow side, which was why they had removed their boots beforehand. Plans changed however, when after about an hour in a fish finally took the bait only for it to be stronger than Teags was able to handle, causing him to lose his balance.

Naturally Loran had to laugh. It was the only thing to do.

Teagan got his revenge though, needless to say fishing was the last thing on their mind whilst trying to pull the other under.

It was a blast though, and they eventually managed to recover the fishing rod from the river, so all in all the experience was a worthwhile one.

The two friends would have continued their walk, probably make a stop at Teags’ place since its closest to dry off before parting ways, had they not come face to face with an out of breath and extremely frustrated runner. The poor man had been about ready to give up and return to the guild empty handed, but the second he laid eyes on the wet human being in front of him his face turned red with annoyance.

“Finally! Where the hell have you been? I’ve searched nearly the entire city for you!”

A sheepish smile immediately crossed Loran’s face as the runner yelled at him, while the hand of his not in the process of holding his boots immediately went to sheepishly scratch the back of his head. “’Pologies mate, me an Teags weren’t in the city till just recently. If we’d a known you were lookin for me, we’d a come back sooner, right Teags?”

Nodding in agreement, Teagen was about to open his mouth to attempt to aide his friend in diffusing the man’s temper, but one look at the stink-eye he received from that motion alone made him rethink his next actions more carefully. Giving Loran a wave with the hand holding his boots, along with a cheerful smile, he quickly started walking in a random direction, completely unfazed by the look of utter betrayal that crossed his friend’s face.

“Sorry, pal, tis gettin late, I still got some errand ta do. Catch ya later!”

Resisting the urge to gape at the metaphorical knife now wedged in his back by the retreating traitor, Loran swiftly returned his attention to the still annoyed runner, who was in the process of eyeing him before letting out a sigh. “Never mind that now boy. What on earth happened to you anyway? Did you actually go and jump in a river?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, causing a squelch noise due to the wet material, an expression of indignation (aka a pout) crossed Loran’s face. “Firs of all, I’m not a boy, mate, I’m on me twentieth year, an I did not jump, I was pushed.” In spite of his attempts a grin broke through as he recalled the incident and he puffed up slightly. “I did a right good job of gettin im back though!”

Rolling his eyes at the young man, the runner merely chose not to engage in the topic any further and went back to the real reason he was there in the first place. “Yes, yes, all right, back to the reason I was looking for you. Your presence is required back at the guild immediately.”

Some of the colour immediately drained from Loran’s face as his eyes widened and grin dropped. He gulped, surely this couldn’t be about what he thinks its about, could it? I mean after all, he’s still new, only been part of the guild a little while…‘sides, its not like that one thing is really all that of a big deal…is it?

“If this is ‘bout that broken window I heard people talkin about, I don’t know nothin. In fact I even got a alibi for-”

“It’s not about the window.” Loran visibly slumped with relief. Oh well, the runner has other things to do than to be concerned over a window right now. “You and some others are being called for a meeting, chances are its to receive some kind of mission.”

A grand total of three seconds passed before Loran let out a ‘whoop’ of excitement and set of running towards the guild with a wide grin, leaving a confused runner in his wake, before said man took off after him.

“Oy! Wait up!”

One of the guild's few elves was sitting with his back against the wall a few feet from the inside of the guild-hall's gate. He had a pipe gripped in his teeth, while one hand scribbled with a sharpened, charred twig in a journal held by the other. Every so often, a look of consternation crossed his face, and he scribbled something out, as if he had made an error in some calculation.

He was a curious creature. Social by nature, he only sought solitude when he chose to write. This privacy seemed to extend to the writing itself, as those snoopy enough to open it without his permission found they couldn't read it. Some joked that he was actually illiterate, and was writing nonsense to look smart. Some thought Erevan might be a novelist, perhaps a famous one under a pen-name, and he used a code to keep his identity a secret. There were even an odd few who kept a wary eye on him, thinking him some kind of spy using a code.

Erevan never answered to the rumors, and kept happily writing away in corners of rooms when he had tired of company(this usually took quite some time).

A strange sound caused the elf to tilt his head, trying to hear it better. A sharp, damp slapping, like wet feet running on cobblestones. This turned out to be exactly correct, however unlikely that was, as a young man barged through the gate at a run, sopping from head to toe.

"Keep rushing like that and you'll burn yourself out before you get whereever 'tis that you mean to be." Erevan spoke in a pleasant drawl, carrying the accent of one who speaks low elven as a first language.

The young man was followed by another, a guild runner, Erevan recognized. He greeted this one more simply, "Evening."

The runner leaned a hand against the wall, puffing hard, and looking at Erevan unclearly for a moment.

"You too," he finally got out.

"Beg pardon?"

The runner waved a hand in "wait up" gesture, then expounded. "Gathering folks for the guildmaster. You're wanted too."

@Royaletutor59

E Z L A N
At the guild

---

The coincidences of life n fate.

Ezlan, bare foot and chested casually stroll into the main guild hall, shoving the main doors open wide with a fierce bravado and gusto as he entered. His movements were very aloof and without any urgency at all. He carried with him an air of confident surety often reserved only for those in positions of power, the elite and important, those otherwise considered untouchable.
Having found an apple on a nearby table, ignoring the current bite missing from it or the ownership therefore implied, he threw it into the air a couple of times, bouncing it in his hand before crunching deep into it, the juices running over his swollen lip and down his bearded chin as he carelessly devoured it, core and all.

Meanwhile a few rooms away, with dishevelled burgundy hair and in ruffled twisted leathers, the runner was slouched over herself hurriedly re-lacing her boots. It was considered improper of her not to be present at her wards arrival. As a long standing guild member she prided herself on her service and contributions to the guild that literally saved her life. Failing this frustrated her, a frustration that steadily grew and was aimed at Ezlan.

“Where’s the old salt hiding?” Ezlan called out aloud to some passers by, only swallowing the last of his food after he spoke.
“The guild master.” He quickly added after realising their confusion. He had not been away from the sea for long, and had been at the guild for even less, since then he had been finding language and mannerisms that he needed to adjust, customs that needed to be learnt, but for most parts it was something he cared little for. Fitting in was never really his thing.

Never having received a formal summons to the guild before, Ezlan looked around for someone he might recognise. Although to be fair, due to lifestyle choices, unless there was a big breasted guild member, Ezlan was more likely to find a familiar face at the local brothel or tavern over his own guild hall. This was not a representation of his loyalties (or lack of), but rather an indicator of how he’d rather spend his free time.

Spending as little time at the guild as possible also had helped ensure the longevity of his relationship and membership. It was a sign of value and respect that he had kept away.
Even a dog knows not to defecate where he sleeps. Or as the Caerbean commonly say, ‘Don’t soil your own nest.’

So his time had been spent exploring and getting to know his new city. To him this was truly a wonderful town, it still held that new undiscovered excitement that came with the unknown. Much wonder was hidden down the old and shabby streets, he was still finding many new holes to drink at and fill...
He was a sailor after all, a Caerbean of high ego and low standards.

With an eager excitement in his eyes, he wondered upon what new adventures and challenging dangers may unfurl from this highly mysterious meeting. Only time would tell.

---

"Nem of the Shield Brethren?" a voice loudly asked as the door to the small tea house was thrown wide open, ushering in unwelcome rays of far too bright sunshine.

"Yes, yes," Nem irritably replied with a dismissive wave of a hand. Her red eyes did not leave the small carved figures that lined the painted wooden board that lay on the table in front of her and she made no effort to acknowledge the new arrival, hopeful that he would leave if she just ignored him.

A well-practiced cough followed, dashing her hopes,"Nem the Adventurer, your presence is requested at the guild hall."

"Can it wait?" Nem tersely asked, unwilling to relinquish the victory she sensed was nearly at hand.

"Afraid not. We're almost late as it stands. It wasn't easy to find you," the guild runner chided, wiping the sweat from his brow with a sleeve of his dust covered shirt.

"I wasn't expecting to be summoned," Nem glowered.

"You and me both, sister," the guild runner began in agreement, his eyes glazing over with fond memories of recent, happier times. "There I was with a half a flagon of mead and a pretty enough girl when–"

Interrupting the guild runner mid monologue with a raised hand and defeated sigh, Nem pushed her chair away from the table. Moving to stand, she grabbed her two handed sword, and offered an apologetic nod towards her puzzled opponent. The arrival of the guild runner had saved the old merchant from a humiliating loss, but Nem would not forget. She would have her victory, one day or another, she could only be distracted for so long.

Stepping into the bright daylight, Nem approached the guild runner, "It's unusual for them to summon adventurers on such short notice, do you know why they asked for me?"

"No, you know they don't tell me much, sister," the guild runner offered apologetically. "Just what I need to know to do my job. Between you and me though, this one seemed important."

"Important? Important, how?"

"Seems the guild master asked for you by name. You and some other adventurers. Don't ask me who, it was hard enough to remember your name. I'm sure you'll be fine."

Following lightly in the footsteps of the man as he lead her towards the guild hall, weaving through crowded streets, Nem made no effort to hide the small smile that took form on her lips. It had been too long since her last proper adventure.

The Shield Brethren guild hall tended to be busy in bursts as people came-and-went between jobs. In moments of low business, the hall could end up packed to the brim with people looking over the forums and waiting for assignments. This was not the case now; there was much to do across the land.

Monsters were always a problem, even with Caerbean and guild patrols. The odd zombie or ghoul blight always had to be dealt with and it was a mark of pride for a group to handle it before the Paladins showed up. The Swamp Road tended to tie up large numbers of bodies in an eternal effort to keep the jungles and bogs from reclaiming it and to protect merchants on their way to and from the Highlands. There was always the rare chance that a dangerous Other would appear from the void and begin a rampage. That was without even mentioning the usual antics that mere people could get into!

Currently, tensions were high between the District of Hectate far to the North and Caerbea to the South. Raids from the North had terrorized settlements resulted in an increased risk of undead and rogue summoned monsters. While the District military was commonly considered to be a well funded joke, their blood mages, summoners and necromancers were greatly feared. On top of that was news of Iron Harbor's once-thought impervious walls being breached and the city plundered. News was conflicted but it was clear by now, months after the incident, that this was more of a large scale terror attack than a sacking of the noble city. The action confused many, seeing as Iron Harbor and Caerbea weren't friendly toward each other.

In the fallout of that attack, many summoned monsters had broken loose from their handlers. The Church's battle clerics were quick to the scene but the rumor was that they had been savaged by retreating District mercenaries. There was still no word on how many died in the city but rumors suggested as few as hundreds and as many as half the population of Terrenum itself.

Currently, there were only a few adventuring groups in the guild hall between deployments and a handful of people who were too old, too young or too broken to contribute. Ezlan's bombastic entrance earned him more than a few annoyed and confused glares from those present but nobody answered him directly.

The runners moved one-by-one to report on their task and point out their charges. The soon-to-be new group had a few minutes to mill about before a voice boomed over the modes commotion.

"Oie! You there," yelled a man. "Yes, you lot!"

The voice's owner was a bear of a man. He had a pot belly and a limp along with a large and varied number of scars running over his body. Although he was later in his years (probably half way through his thirties) and had clearly gained a fair bit of weight, his thickly muscled build was impossible to ignore. Judging by the silver coin pinned to his shirt, he was also an officer in the guild.

"You're late. Get your asses over here. You," he boomed, putting one of his big, gnarled hands on the short red-headed runner's shoulder and giving her a push toward the hall. "Show 'em where to go."

He crossed his arms over his chest and turned to watch the door after that. The man seemed to be expecting somebody else to show up. By the look in his eyes and the sour expression on his face, he didn't seem excited for whoever was meant to walk in next.

The woman kept her head down and urgently gestured for Ezlan, Erevan, Eomer and Loran to follow her.

The guild hall was a bit larger on the inside than it seemed. With the days growing longer as Summer crept in, it was also quite warm at this time of day. Tall windows ran the length of each exterior wall capable of opening high and low to get some air flow through the building. They remained shut, however, to try and keep the smell of the streets out.

"Mind your manners in there," the young woman was saying as they took only a few short turns. "And for the grace of Serenrae, don't say anything, Ezlan!"

Quickly, they found themselves at a large and ornate door. The runner knocked and a feminine voice answered, allowing them entrance. Once they were in, she shut the door behind them and hurried off to her duties.

Inside, the four of them would see a big, well decorated office. On the right wall were shelves of books from floor to ceiling. Any close examination would tell that most of them were ledgers, job records and logistics logs; basic boring accounting crap. The back wall, behind the desk, was mostly windows. They were open to try and work up some manner of breeze while incense burned to mask the street smell. On the left wall was a closed door and a minibar filled with exotic bottles from distant lands as well as lots of locally produced bourbon. The bottles were locked behind a modestly beautiful stained glass set of cabinet doors. A large desk took up most of the center of the room, in front of the windows. It was a big, fancy piece and had scuffs and scars from its many years of service - and it might have been salvaged from a previous adventure.

The Guild Master sat in a big wicker chair designed to let the warmth of a body drain away instead of being captured by something made out of stuffed leathers. She had jet black hair (although, by now, streaked with gray), brown eyes and an irritated scowl on her face. By all accounts, she might have been quite pretty when she was younger and it was clear she kept herself fit and in good shape for being halfway through her thirties.

"Ah, there you are," she said. She sat back in her chair with a glass tumbler held to her forehead. Surprisingly, the tumbler held ice in it; ice was rare at this time of the year. The glass itself was probably real lead crystal as it caught the light brilliantly - likely an expensive import from Kingsland. There was a golden coin pinned to her shirt showing the guild's sigil. This was her badge of authority and revealed her as the proprietor of the guild.

Her eyes narrowed as she looked the four of you over. "You're missing one," her tone turned cold at that and she muttered something about somebody being 'unreliable'. "On your way out, find your fifth; a person named Nemeia.

"I'm sure you heard about the attack on Iron Harbor," she began without ceremony. "We've had to divert a lot of our best up North to clean that mess up. It seems many of the demons and undead spawned by those cursed blood letters went wild after the fight. They're terrorizing homes all across the region. The Castellan is at his limits and his guards are pulling double duty as city constables just to keep order. Put it simply, everybody is short-staffed over this. That's why I called you lot in here."

She paused and took a drink of her glass. There wasn't much drink left in it, yet the ice provided enough water to wet her lips.

Meanwhile, in the guild hall...

Nemeia was lead into the guild hall behind her runner not even five minutes after the others met with the Guild Master (or, Guild Mistress, as it turned out). When she walked in, a tall, heavily built fellow with a plump belly and a fair number of scars began to work his jaw as if he had tasted something sour. He had his arms crossed over his chest, neatly showing off the many scarss he had earned, and favored one of his legs with his stance.

"it's right this way-"

"You're done here," the burly man barked at the runner.

Startled, the fellow turned quickly and began to speak. "Sir, I need to lead her to-"

"I said you're done here," he repeated. "Now scare off."

The runner lifted his hands and his brow as if to say, 'not my problem'. The silver coin on the big man's shirt showed that he was an officer who far out-ranked a lowly runner. He slipped out of the guild just as quickly as he arrived.

In a deliberate, slow motion, the big man leaned his head forward and spat onto the floor in Nemeia's direction.

"Nothin' for you here."

E Z L A N
At the guild

As he was told to remain silent, Ezlan gave an exaggerated surprised and slightly insulted look, pretending not to understand why he had been singled out or the reasons for it. Of course it was a ruse, he surely did and was proud of his reputation. He followed the lie with a playful chuckle and a teasingly wide smile. Now turning his attention around him to his new comrades he looked over them all quite quickly and slightly dismissively. With a slightly harder-than-necessary nudge Ezlan elbowed Loran and whispered “Was a pretty big guy but recon I could take ‘im.” And gives a confident nod as they waited at the last door.

...

Ezlan had strongly considered the runners advice, he wanted to obey her, he truly did, but as the doors shut behind them and his eyes ran over the room taking everything in, he saw so much temptation and desire that it became painfully obvious that it was never going to happen, it just wasn’t even an option. It simply was not within his power.

The gamble ahead was of one too great to pass up. The risks just didn’t nearly compare to the reward, let alone the excitement of the challenge itself. How could he patiently ignore an opportunity like this. He felt it deep within his bones, the excitement of challenges which if overcome would offer stories and endless boasting for the rest of his lifetime.

After all, what harm could come from trying? Right?’.

For this, any reason or restraint was lost. thoroughly washed far from his mind. It was a gamble he couldn’t afford not to play. With a daring glee in his eyes, across his lips grew the most devilish and charming grin he could ever muster.

As the old woman spoke, Ezlan subtly moved around the room.
“Terrible thing that at Iron Harbour.” He said loosely in agreement as he listened in. By the time she had finished talking Ezlan was musing over the locked glass pained cabinet.
“That’s an Ill’ean spiced rum” he said slightly surprised and impressed, turning back to face the Guild Master. “If I’m not mistaken.” He added in, looking for that sense of knowing pride in her eyes, keenly judging her expression.
Of course he wasn’t mistaken, if there was one thing Ezlan knew it was his alcohol.

“Nearly lost me arm trying to get a hold of one. Would have been worth the trade too if it hadn’t turned out to be a poor knockoff no better than donkeys piss.” The disappointment of those memories slipped into his voice, he turned back to the cabinet and tested the latch, gently rattling it.
“They say the spices come from the isles of elves, ‘Tredegar’ I believe, that is if it’s truly authentic. Do you know how to tell if if it’s the real deal?” He asked playfully, clearly setting up a punch line as he turned back around once again. His eyes deliberately catching her near empty glass and reminding her of it as he awaited a reply.

"Ya'ask an elf to try it," Erevan skated past the joke the would doubtless have been very sensitive and tasteful in regards to his people. "Now y'all likely know I'm not one to pass on a drink, but that's not why we're here." He looked around at them, counting heads. "Ain't a typical party five folks? Who're we missing?"

Is it really all about alcohol with you" Eomer grumbled quietly towards Ezlan, a scowl adorning his (slightly scarred) face. "We're not here for you to show off how well you can tell one set of booze from 'nother, we're all here because we want, and have the ability, to work".

It was true enough though, each of this group had been chosen for this, specifically, for some reason. He did have a suspicion however that the lady was hadn't finished speaking yet, or at the very least there was more to this task than what she said there was. Why else would they form a team of individuals, none of which he had worked with before and he assumed they hadn't either, if this wasn't something an already formed group could perform? He was excited however, a new place to explore, new challenges ahead, and something he had never experienced before: adventuring with another team of individuals.

He sent a sideways glance at each of his new companions, eyeing them up and judging each of them silentl, lingering especially long on the Caerbean. He assumed most of them had never served under a woman before, at least knowingly. Up north it was surprisingly common for a woman to head up a gang of bandits, with some being amongst the most sasadistic and twisted people this badlander had either met.

---

In a deliberate, slow motion, the big man leaned his head forward and spat onto the floor in Nemeia's direction.

"Nothin' for you here."

Nem could not be certain what it was that had so angered the grizzled looking guild officer, but she did have her suspicions. The Lowlands, despite the pleasant weather, were not generally a welcoming place for those touched by the infernal planes. In the Highlands and along the Swamp Road she had been viewed with a healthy dose of caution as a result of her planetouched features. Her curved horns, her red eyes, and her tail had drawn unwanted attention, but she had been tolerated. She had been seen as a tame monster, a useful if not necessary evil. In the still untamed parts of Terrenmum another friendly blade was more important than the appearance of the wielder said blade. However, in the South, in the fertile Lowlands, in the heart of civilization, Nem was hated, and she was feared.

The young tiefling knew better than to respond in anger. A guild member did not draw their weapons against a fellow guild member, no matter how tempting the prospect might be.

"This token and the runner that you dismissed say otherwise," Nem said, holding up the stylized copper symbol of the guild to the light cast by one of the windows. "I'm here at the behest of the Guild Master, not you."

---

Rubbing at the spot he was elbowed, Loran gave a small snicker at Ezlan’s words, that’s a matchup he wouldn’t be apposed to seeing, before turning his attention back to the matter at hand as they stepped through the final door.

At the sight of the office’s interior, Loran couldn’t help but give a low whistle in appreciation, it was impressive to say the least, he’s also positive that that is the largest collection of books he’s seen together in his whole life. He must look a right sight in comparison, all soaked and barefooted, subtly putting his arms behind his back so that the boots still dangling in his one hand won’t be so glaringly obvious, he hoped that the Guild Master, or well…Mistress, won’t hold his appearance against him too much. Speaking of the woman, she immediately had his full attention the second that she started speaking.

It was hard to hide his annoyance when Ezlan interrupted her in favour of talking about some kind of rum inside that cabinet. Rolling his eyes, he couldn’t help but give a scoff, all that trouble for some alcohol? If he wanted a drink he’d just have a bottle of his brother’s brew, and he most likely wouldn’t almost lose an arm to get it either. Nodding in agreement at Erevan and Eomer's words, he fidgeted slightly. This would be his first big assignment from the guild, he just wishes that people would stop interrupting so that the Guild Master could actually give it to them.

In the Guild Master's Office...

The woman behind her desk narrowed her eyes when Ezlan began to speculate on her alcohol. Except for a couple of decanters with glass stoppers (one of which seemed to match the crystal tumbler she was holding), all of the bottles in the cabinet were labeled. When Erevan made his comment about verifying the wine, the guild owner couldn't help but quirk a little smile.

"Stand by the door," she said to Ezlan. "And keep your hands to yourself." Then, to Erevan, she said, "I already told you; your fifth is a woman named Nemeia. You can't miss her..."

Again, she quirked another little smile. When they settled down, she put her tumbler on what seemed like a roughly cut piece of marble used as a coaster.

"As I was saying," she began, an impatient edge to her tone. "With our best teams up North, I've been forced to shuffle the rest around to take up the slack locally. You'll be taking the poor man's road to Blightstone - a miserable little trade depot often used by the swamp runners. Nemeia should know how to get there. There is a man named Dagston there. He operates a tavern with no name. Talk to him when you arrive and get his blessings to work in his territory.

"Your mission is to reinforce Maddox's group. He's been chasing bandits in the region. You will also take a purse with bank notes for payment to his boys as well as a small amount of travel money."

She opened a drawer on her desk and withdrew two packages; one looked like a little tube wrapped in a sheep bladder with the lid sealed with wax while the other was a simple sack. She tossed them onto the far edge of the desk closest to the newly formed group. Embedded in the wax on the end of the tube was a small silver coin.

"There. Do not lose the bank notes. Now get going."

Back in the guild hall...

"This token and the runner that you dismissed say otherwise," Nem said, holding up the stylized copper symbol of the guild to the light cast by one of the windows. "I'm here at the behest of the Guild Master, not you."

The burly man unfolded one of his arms and put a finger to the silver coin pinned to his shirt. His expression did not change.

Throughout the Lowlands and in Iron Harbor, a fairly complex system of coins was used to denote rank, titles, importance, jurisdiction, etc. Copper was usually the lowest tier of importance, used often simply to show affiliation. Copper was cheap. Silver was often a sign of authority or high value. Packages shipped with a silver coin were treated with more care and delivered more swiftly. Gold tended to be reserved for packages of only the highest value and for significant company leaders or members of high authority.

In this case, all members of an adventure guild were required to wear identification in the form of one of these coins. The shield over a river feeding into a larger body of water signified the Shield Brethren of River City. The burly man barring Nemeia's access wore a silver coin, however, the detail differed; the coin was slightly larger and had the standard shield-over-river in the upper section with a grand looking building beneath it. This showed him as the Master of the Hall, meaning his authority was over the guild hall itself.

While Nemeia was correct in that her summons came from the guild master herself, this man could legally block her path and, should he press the issue, eject her from the building.

---

Nem pretended to carefully study the elaborate silver medallion that the scarred man wore. Focusing on the details of the amulet was distracting and gave her time to think. She did not fully understand the strange obsession that the Lowlanders had with mostly useless chunks of metal and their love of elaborate, pointless hierarchies. Especially when those obsessions meant that an old warrior who seemed well-past his prime had the power to make her life difficult.

Had she been in the Highlands or the wilds, Nem would have simply resolved the matter with a sword. It was her experience that a sharp or pointy object was usually a good way to clear a wide path of passage through almost any obstacle. In the sanctity of the guild hall, Nem had no intention of drawing her blade first. But she would not cower. And she would not meekly surrender to the guild officer. She would not silently trudge out of the guild hall with her head bowed in shame. She would not give the scarred, wounded man that satisfaction. If she could not choose her victory then she would at least choose the manner of defeat that suited her temper.

Turning towards the nearest guild runner, a young man, barely grown out of childhood, who appeared to be doing his best to turn invisible, Nem pointed past the guild officer blocking her path,"Guild runner, would you please tell the Guild Master that Nemeia Naïlo has arrived as requested and humbly awaits her orders."

In the Guild Hall...

The young man flinched when Nemeia called out to him. He turned toward her with wide, nervous eyes. There was no small amount of curiosity in his gaze as he looked to the exotic tiefling woman.

After hearing her polite request, the young man glanced over at the elder guild officer. The burly man unhurriedly turned his withering glare on the kid. After a moment, the runner looked back to Nemeia and, almost apologetically, shook his head.

---

Nem allowed a frown to pass over her features. She didn't begrudge the guild runner his polite refusal. Runners that made of a habit of ignoring the orders of their superiors did not last long. They were never that hard to replace, there were enough street urchins milling about River City to see to that. Still, Nem could not help but be a bit disappointed. She'd nursed a small hope that the the guild runner would have been a bit more of a rebel. The boy had at least been more curious than afraid, which was a welcome surprise.

Returning her attentions to the portly guild officer, Nem forced a smile, inadvertently displaying her sharp canines, "You play strange games for an officer of the guild."

Nodding towards the leg he seemed to favor she raised her voice slightly, "How long before you tire and let me do my job? The very same job that our superior tasked me with."

Erevan suppressed a laugh at the pittance they were afforded for travel fair. In the face of all the displayed wealth in her office, it seemed ridiculous. Hells, her coaster was made of hammerdeep marble. It alone was worth more than she was giving them. Not even to speak of the crystal glass she sat upon it, or(according to Ezlan) the spirits inside it.

Spend a gold on the sandals and a copper on the spear. See where that gets you.

But he took the bag and the tube with a silent smile. With both in hand, he started for the door.

"Well alright," he drawled, "C'mon boys, let's get a move on."

On their way out, the shortened party came upon a slightly awkward scene. A teifling woman was having her way barred by a very large man, and people were actively trying to avoid being caught in the crossfire.

Unfortunately, Erevan remembered the only descriptor the guildmistress had given for their missing member; that they would know her when they saw her.

"I do hate to interrupt," he said, while quite deliberately placing himself between them, "But, miss, would you happen to be Nemeia?"

Bandits? Eomer thought to himself, disposition changing slightly, looking somewhat uncomfortable, and a dark expression briefly flashing across his face. Bandits around Iron Harbour are normally smart enough to lay low, lest they are hunted down by guardsmen of the Castilian or even adventuring guilds being sent for by local settlements. They're either taking heavy losses from the familiar attacks and risking everything to survive, taking advantage of the local militias being rather preoccupied with other concerns, or... his thoughts trailed off momentarily, remembering the man in the pub. Or they're emboldened by the rumours of Reaper in the local area and are putting on a show to impress. Either way, these bandits could be a good way to gather more information about the rumours circulating.

His attention was quickly drawn back to the present at the mention of coinage, even if the vast majority wasn't theirs. His heart fluttered slightly as they were laid on the table, and he made to grab both items from the pristine desk but was beaten to the punch by Erevan. A distrustful glare followed,Eomer didn't think the elf caught this however. Still though, the travel money sack looked pretty much empty when Erevan picked it up, Not much for him to lose thankfully he thought bitterly. It wasn't their fault really, none of the three had necessarily done anything to slight the badlander, but in the Badlands you just learn to trust no one you don't know, and even most you do know too.

Erevan cockily called his comrades too follow him, however Eomer lingered a moment longer, even now he could tell the Elf was going to get on his nerves, the Caerbean too at this rate. "And us?" He asked, admittedly somewhat more aggressively than intended, he was just sick of this ragtag group's antics already. "Do we recieve any information on our compensation beforehand this time? Or are we just to hope that we find the reward satisfactory after the fact?".

---

Smiling widely as the Guild Master finished relaying their mission, Loran gave the woman a bow, “Count on us, Ma’am!” before following after Erevan and leaving the office in favour of heading towards the hall. He was really truly excited. They were going to help banish bandits! Just wait until his brothers hear about this! And the members of the party that were present looks like they know what they’re doing, slight case of alcohol on the brain not counted, all in all, he’s looking forward to working with them!

On the way out, the party spotted the bear of a man from earlier seemingly blocking the path of a tiefling woman. Loran was intrigued. He has often heard stories of tieflings throughout his life, most painted a rather unflattering picture to be honest, but he has never met or even seen one in person until this very moment. The possibility that this may even be their missing party member was all the encouragement he needed and before common sense could get in the way he opened his mouth.

“Blimey, you’re a tiefling ain’t you? Never met one a you afore, got ta say though, you aint near as evil-looking as all them stories make ye out ta be. Tis probly not true that ya kin breath fire either, right? This bloke, Allan back were I’m from, he’s always rantin bout seeing a tiefling take down a forest with just a breath. ‘Course I always told him tha I thought that’s a right load o nonsense, he was rather fond a my brother’s special brew you see, but I’d owe him a right big one if it turns out ta be true. Been calling him delusional for nothin if tha's the case.”

Completely ignoring the guild officer(or having possibly just forgotten about him) he leaned forward slightly and gave her a grin.

“Can’t say that I ever saw red eyes afore. Do all tieflings have em? They’re a right sight.”