Prologue
Our story begins in the town of Fourbridge Tower, a former military fortress, located on the outer edges of the realm, that's now a hub for adventurers, trade, intrigue, and other strange phenomena. More than 1,000 people, not including Empire soldiers still installed there, live within the gigantic fortress. Nearly triple that number live in the surrounding area.
2:30 a.m., town square
A hooded man emerged from an alley near the town square. He gripped a sack with one hand and held a folder tucked under another arm. Above him, along the tall walls that encircle the fort, a few guards huddled around a open fire, completely blind to the man's presence.
They certainly can't see me down here, he thought. He surveyed the street. Not a soul around.
The man walked quickly, his robe swished between his legs, toward the square. He approached The Post Board, a large wooden board suspended between two metal beams, where the townsfolk posts notices, job listings, and other information.
The man removed two metal nails and a hammer from the sack and carefully opened the folder, revealing a large, fine piece of parchment with mysterious symbols in bold type. He aligned the parchment in the center and hammered the first nail with subsequent
thwacks. The sound rippled through the square. The man snapped his eyes to the guards, but none of them stirred. He quickly hammered the second nail, securing the parchment.
He stepped back and observed the poster, a large thing that took up most of the board. The mysteriously lettering was large enough for a massive crowd to see.
I still don't have a clue what this says, and I don't want to know.
A laugh from the group of guards snapped the man out of his reverie. He stuffed the hammer into the sack and disappeared into the alley.
4 p.m., weapons shop
Brytter slapped the coins onto the table.
"Final offer," he growled.
The sword merchant sighed.
"You drive a hard bargain. It's yours."
The merchant unfurled the cloth covering the great sword.
"It's a beautiful sward"
Brytter smirked.
It is indeed.
He wrapped the sword, thanked the merchant and headed for the exit. He flung open the door out when...
BANG!
The door flung in, hitting Brytter on the arm.
"What the
fuck!" a voice from behind the door bellowed.
Brytter closed the door, revealing a young girl rubbing her face. A small tinkle of blood dripped from her nose.
"How about you look out the window before throwing doors open," she said, through gritted teeth.
"Maybe slow down," Brytter retorted
As the girl unleashed a way of epithets and insults, Brytter ignored her, focusing on one, two, three people who jogged past them.
When the girl piped down, he turned back to her.
"What's going on?"
"There's a message on the board. Something about runes. Invaders. I don't know," the girl said. "A friend said a lot of people are down at the square to look at it. I was on my way until..."
"You got a face full of door," Brytter said, with a hint of a slight chuckle.
"Yes." The kid wiped her face with a sleeve. "I'm headed there now." She took off running, and from behind her yelled, "Watch where you're going, you twat!"
Brytter furrowed his brow and committed the face to memory.
Let's see what's this all about, he thought.
At the square, dozens, if not hundreds, of people surrounded the Post Board.
Brytter couldn't see the parchment. He moved through the throngs of people to get closer. It wasn't hard. He's always been slightly taller than the normal person. He overheard snippets of conversations as he pushed his way through.
"Can you read it?"
"What does it mean?"
"Are we about to be invaded?"
Brytter could see Governess Michele St. Laurent and a few scholarly looking individuals studying the board. He squinted his eyes, and through the governess and her people, he could make out the message:
If you can read this, you are to meet at Tomblen's Shop at 5 o'clock sharp. Do not tell anyone or risk starting something you may not be able to finish.
Brytter surveyed the crowd, faces etched with worry, anger, confusion. Indeed, there was no point in revealing he can read the sign. The crowd would swoop in on him, and that'll catch the attention of the governess. He prefers to keep a low profile.
He trudged his way out of the crowd and headed south to Toblen's.
Knock knock
The door creaked open, wide enough allowed by the door chain. A raspy voice percolated through the opening. "You saw the sign?"
"Yes."
"Did you tell anyone?"
Brytter did not respond.
The door closed, the chain rattled, and the door reopened again. "Come in."
Brytter entered the store, an empty, near dark shell of its former self. The shelves laid bare. Dust covered the floor, save for a series of footprints leading toward the back of the shop. He recalled the store served mysterious objects found in lands abroad and visited it when old Tolben manned the counter. Debt seemed to have caught up with the old fool, it seems.
"Head to the back," the man said.
Brytter turned and saw a robed figure, his hood obscuring his face, pointing to the back.
"Who are you?"
"You're late. They're waiting. Go."
Brytter cocked an eyebrow and followed a narrow hallway toward the back of the store. The wood creaked under his boots. He kept one hand on his great sword, ready to defend himself. He approached a red curtain. He took a deep breath and pulled it aside, revealing a large room.
"Ah ha! You're here," said a booming voice."The last one. And... you're late."
The voice came from another robed man who sat behind a desk. His hood down. White hair matching a white beard hugging his square jaw. He looked older than he sounded.
"Please take a seat," the man said, motioning to an open chair. Brytter looked around the room. He wasn't alone.
There was a half-orc, whispering to himself and writing into a small book; a Dwarf, fiddling with a crossbow embedded with four runes; a halfling, playing with a small ball of light in her hands; and another human, leaning against a covered window, looking out through a slit in the paper.
Brytter found a seat. The robed man slapped his desk.
"The gangs all here. Let's begin," he said.
