Prologue

Introductions:
The group of young men and women sat in the Fallen Tower Tavern, spending their fast dwindling coins on an evenings entertainment. Tonight was hopefully the last of an era, although if it transpired in the same way as any of the previous 4 nights, then they would simply wake in the morning a few crowns poorer and still without a commission.

They had chosen the Tower because it had a reputation for being a good place to find work, although probably not the type they had been familiar with in the past. Each of the rather unusual group had come from different backgrounds, and despite this had all become good friends, some recently, some over the past few years.

Neverwinter, their home town, was generally a town of craftsmen and fruit farmers. Situated on the western coast of the region known simply as "The North", or sometimes as "The Savage Frontier", the climate would normally be expected to be cold bordering on arctic for most of the year. However, through some strange quirk of nature, the hot waters of the river Neverwinter flowing through the town give the entire valley a milder snow free climate, enabling the numerous gardens to produce many fruits normally seen in more southern climes.

One of the companions, Cleo, had come from such a fruit farm background. Her parents were originally of the Uthgardt, but had settled and become "civilised". Cleo however, had rebelled against it from an early age, training in secret with weapons and armour to prepare herself for traveling beyond the civilized shelter of the Neverwinter area. Although as yet unblooded, she was hardened enough by her training such that she felt she could hold her own if she had to, and considered her one remaining soft spot was her cat Stormy, currently nestled in her lap, purring as Ceely the half-elf scratched his head.

Ceely, the second of the companions was the odd one out of the group. Born of human mother with two older human brothers, she felt out of place in Neverwinter. For several years she had been working with her brothers, building up the characteristic calluses and salt bleached hair of the fisher folk, until the recent reappearance of her elven father had caused her to question her life, and finally give up the sea. Some what ashamed of her heritage, she had previously worn her hair long and had tended to avoid looking directly at people with her almond shaped eyes. Now however, having made her decision to leave Neverwinter, partially to discover the world, partially to discover herself, she wore her illegitimacy with pride, her hair tied back to show her pointed ears, her head erect and proud.

To her left, sat a large, but quiet, solemn man of the cloth. A small metal disk with a symbol of a pair of tied hands engraved in it hung from a leather cord around his neck, and his hand would often stray to it, as if to take comfort from it. Milo had arrived at the inn late, having come straight from the make shift place of healing. As a priest of Illmater, he felt it his duty to take on other's suffering, and had spent the last year training to become a full priest. His mentor, a long time resident of Neverwinter, had recruited him a couple of years previously, and having trained and guided him, was now sending him out into the world to relieve suffering wherever he could. "Healing the sick is but the tip of the iceberg", he would say. "You must discover for yourself what the rest is..." he would finish. Hence Milo found himself joining forces with some of his old and new friends to leave Neverwinter.

The fourth of the companions fell into the strong but silent stereotype. An obvious fighter, Lucretia bulged muscles and was forever sharpening his various blades and polishing his breastplate. A man with a short temper, he was close-mouthed about his past and occasionally harsh with his words, but the companions knew about his hard childhood, and that his only father figure, a retired mercenary named Winston, had recently died, so they made allowances.

In fact, it was because Winston had died that Lucretia was now sitting in the Tower with the rest of his friends. Winston had told him many stories of his travels, and Lucretia felt it was almost his duty to now visit some of the places that he had heard about. The best way to travel was in a group, and coincidence had brought him into this circle of friends at this time. He lifted his mug, a little ale sloshing over the side, and nodded to his main drinking partner of the evening, Balnor.

The young self confessed thief named Balnor was a short wiry looking fellow with a flamboyant style. A rapier at his side - an unusual weapon for the north - he tended to be more interested in how he looked rather than how he performed. His background had likewise gone someway into forming him into the young man he was today, and his reasons for wanting to leave the city of Neverwinter were a little more pressing. Somewhere in the city was a father or two of young maidens who were eager to get their hands on him - mainly for despoiling their virginal daughters, but quite often for his tendency to walk off with the family silver! His quick wit and generous nature for the most part overcame his friend's misgivings - he certainly seemed to be able to always come up with good explanations for his actions!

On the far side of the table from Balnor and Lucretia, sat Herod. Herod was rather stern and serious looking, a reflection of his chosen path. As a young lad he had found himself drawn again and again to Lord Nasher's army training grounds, where he would watch the soldiers. Once, he had witnessed a soldier die from an accident during a training exercise. The event had effected him strongly, and had led to him joining the priesthood of Tempus, Lord of Battles. As a novice Tempurian priest, his role would be to prepare people for battle, fight at their sides and heal their wounds. Seeing his friends want to travel beyond Neverwinter, he had realised that they may need someone to do just that for them, so he too had joined them to look for a commission.

Next to him, also drawn from Lord Nasher's barracks, was Serena. Serena was also unusual in her way. Ever since she can remember, she has been trying to prove that she could be as good as if not better than a man, and it was this that drove her to train in weapons and be one of very few that joined Lord Nasher's army. Despite having won several competitions in her time training, Serena has quickly come to realise that the sexism of the army was not the place for her, and hearing some of her friends talk about leaving Neverwinter, she felt that if she left too, it might be the only way in which she could prove herself.

The last of the companions was the most unusual of all. Yvandel was probably best described as a wimp. Usually found with his two-faced ventriloquist's puppet around his neck, he was by trade an entertainer, and a skillful one at that. Having spent several years performing in Neverwinter, he was eager to expand his audiences, and improve his act. One of his old friends, Milo, was leaving Neverwinter, and he felt that this may be the ideal time to move on as well. Unsure as to what he can add to the party, he sits quietly for a change, his puppet silent as he sips at his drink, awaiting to see if the group can find work.

By mid evening, the companions were starting to get despondent. The bar was almost empty, and there were no prospective clients sizing them up for a job. Despite having spent the last few days putting the word around that they were available for commissions, they started to feel that perhaps their age and inexperience was working against them. It was at this point in the evening when their luck turned.

A middle aged man entered the inn and looked around, searching. Spotting the party seated at a large table, he approached them and paused to get their attention. Some of the group recognised him as Harthar, a well known and respected runner in the city who performed errands and took messages for people. "Might I join you young folks for a moment and share a quiet word with you?" he said.

END OF INTRODUCTIONS - LINK TO MODULE ONE