Knights of Telarium

A stranger's arrival

It was raining that night over Brookshire. A cold steady rain that would drench you through within a minute. Distant lightning boomed over the mountains to the North as the storm clashed with its peaks. No one with any sense had any business in the muddy streets that night. All the common folk were tucked away cozy in their homes, the candle light shining a pleasant yellow through the windows. What few guards there were stood huddled around the barrel fires that blazed on street corners.

At one particular barrel fire, adjacent to the city gates, three guards stood huddled under the small canopy of a market shop. Not one of them spoke as they gazed into the flames. A loud thumping knock on the city gates startled the guards and they each looked up to the top of the gate, searching for the watchman. He had given no signal to herald any approach. "Maybe he's sleeping?" Suggested one of the newest guards. "If 'e is," grunted an older guard with a thick black beard, "'e's in a world of 'urt in the mornin'."

The youngest of the three climbed the short ladder to find the watchman snoring and dry under his large wooden canopy. He didn't bother to wake him but simply took the watchman's torch from its sconce and held it out over the wall. A solitary hooded figure stood in front of the gate. A chill ran through the young man's spine as the mysterious person gazed up at him. All he could see in the darkness of the stranger's hood were the pin points of torchlight reflecting back at him. "Who... who goes there?" stammered the young guard.

"Obviously someone trying to get into the city you half-wit." Snapped back a female voice.

"Wha... Why do you come at night traveler?"

"Because, my dear simpleton, the sun eventually goes down, and it just so happened to do so when I was only a few miles out from the city. Now, I would love to answer more of your brilliant questions, but as you can see it is a bit wet out and I have business to attend to within the city." Her words bit into the young mans ears like wasps, and he needed no more persuading. He called down for the other two to open the gates.

The soaked wood groaned as the guards pushed the levers that opened the gate just wide enough for the traveler to step through. "What business 'ave you in Brookshire this stormy night?" asked the bearded guard. the traveler reached into her cloak without a word and produced a bit of parchment. The yellow paper bore a large red wax seal. The torchlight barely illuminated the seal enough to reveal a dragon clutching a scale in one claw and a sword in another. "Why, that's Lord Saladín's sigil." All three guards then looked up at the traveler, her face still strangely shadowed within the hood. She quickly snatched the parchment from the old man with two nimble fingers.

"How clever of you. Now, could one of you point me in the direction of this 'Lord Saladín', believe I am late for this dinner he has invited me to." One of the guards pointed down a street to her right and she hurried away without another word. She could tell they watched her as she went. She usually had that effect on the simple-minded.

No other guards stopped her as she went her way. She could tell she was walking through a more wealthy part of the city. The houses all had fences and the sounds of clinking glass and roaring laughter could be heard even through the hiss of the rain.

Eventually she was forced to turn a corner and stumbled upon her destination rather abruptly. A massive cathedral styled mansion loomed over her. Great torches blazed in spite of the pouring rain. Over the large double doors shone the familiar dragon sigil. "Well," said the woman "looks like he has the coin to back up his offer after all." She took out the letter and read it over again, making sure everything seemed genuine.

Dear Adventurer,

We have never met, and perhaps we never will, but I am in search of a skilled individual. Someone who can handle difficult situations and is willing to follow orders. I am hosting a feast on the third day of Autumns Fest in Brookshire. If you wish to know the task and the exhorbiant amount you will be paid for your assistance, please attend.

Cordially, Lord Saladin

She had never received a letter such as this, and it intrigued her. She had been working as a trainer of beasts for a traveling circus when the letter arrived. Although the letter never stated her name, the courier came directly to her, without a word. This entire prospect seemed to good to be true, and her curiosity got the better of her. Before anyone at the circus could state a word of protest, she was gone. No explanation. No reasoning. Simply gone as quick as she had come. This is how she preferred it.

She couldn't help but clutch the invitation a bit harder as she moved under the shadow of the large building. She never liked stone. It was harsh, cold, and unforgiving. As she made her way up the great stairway that led to the front doors, she could feel the heat of the unusually large torches on her cheeks. She wondered at the absence of any guard or servant. Suddenly she noticed that the doors had no handles, only great brass knockers in the shape of dragon's heads. In the mouths of the dragon heads hung heavy rings. She reached up tentatively and gave three solid taps on the door. A panel, one so skillfully hidden that she had failed to notice it, suddenly slid open. A deep voice gave no greeting but simply asked, "Have you an invitation?"

Without a word, she produced the letter to the dark open panel. The dragon sigil on the letter began to glow bright and hot. The paper began to singe and burn away. She dropped the paper to the ground before it burned her. Before she could even ask what in the literal blazes that was, the double doors gave a low boom, and opened.