Charred with soot and blackened with lacquer, an armored boot thunders heavily upon the ground as a knight dismounts his enormous ebony steed. Tendrils rise and swirl from the pool of cold mist beneath him, disturbed by his footfall. Forest and the darkness of deepest night surrounds the figure; all is deathly quiet. The still is shattered by the mount's hoof pawing at the frozen ground. Steam blasts from its nostrils as it snorts arrogantly. As mighty and ferocious a beast it is, the steed knows better than to wander absent its rider. It remains in place as he steps away, walking slowly along the trail toward the small graveyard ahead. Dim luminescence shines down through the gnarled, barren branches, the eerie silver light of a full moon overhead. The wind quickens, unfurling the knight's tattered black cloak. Tree limbs creak and groan in the distance. Dead leaves rustle and drift through the frigid air. Thunderheads rumble. A storm brews on the horizon. A tombstone, one of several scattered haphazardly at the crossroad's intersection, stands before the knight. The grave it marks is freshly dug. He stares down at the wooden cross for a moment, then turns to one side as if regarding an unseen visitor. "You know why I have summoned you." The words are that of a young boy's, perhaps a teenager, no older. Youth and innocence still ring clearly in his voice. After a long pause, the knight nods slightly in reply. Nothing can be seen beyond the void of his helmet's narrow eye slits. "Then do your worst, Sir Black Knight. Make them fear you as you did when you rode these lands a mortal . . ." *** Brecconary, seat of the good king Lorik XVI, home to about ten thousand happy townsfolk bustling in the shadow of Castle Tantegel, rests against a majestic range of purple mountains overlooking a large bay. It's chill this time of year; a winter wind sweeps through the high branches of pine trees far off in the distance. Mist rises from the water and fills the low vale with a dank fog. "Get your fish! Get your fresh fish here!" shouted a nearby street merchant. It was market square at noon. The sun shown warmly upon the throng as they went about business as usual. "Mutton!" another merchant cries holding a leg of lamb above his head. "Fresh and delicious mutton! Oh, good day, Ms. Celia," he says with wide grin and tip of his hat when a beautiful young redheaded girl passes. Not far from Brecconary's town square, down one of the many winding cobblestone streets, our adventurers stand around a large, plain wooden table. A greasy soldier, so fat it's a wonder the king's armorer was able to find enough links to make a mail coat to fit his massive paunch, leans back in his chair. As he chews open mouth on a cut of ham, juices flow down the stubble of his chin. Five pouches of gold sit on the table, the reward money for riding the city of its recent plague of rats. "I want to commend you all for a job well done at that damn mortuary down the way. I hear tell you all made at like bandits," he says wryly with a slimy smirk. He's probably referencing the fact that the "liberators" were seen carting wheelbarrows full of assorted loot away from the ancient, abandoned abbey. "I got another job for you, one I'd like to keep on the down-low if'n you'd be interested." He looks over the motley group standing before him: Aldric, a knight in plate armor; Rothuk, a towering barbarian, Enarit, a dark elf woodsman; Ulf, a levitating leprechaun wizard; and Kritty, a catfolk pirate . . . if stories of his past adventures on the high seas are true. The sergeant checks for any signs of agreement or reservation. "'Bout a week ago, there was a murder. Now, normally handling murders is the king's men's job. And, we're on the case; already solved who done it. They call him Raven—don't scoff like I did; he's a devil with a bow and arrow. He'll drop you from a hundred yards, he will. It's no surprise with our limited manpower we're having a spot of trouble bringing him in for justice. He's a vagabond, a wanderer, always on the move with his posse. They're dangerous; a depraved lot of scoundrels that bunch is." The sergeant wipes some juice off his chin and leans forward. The ham bone gets tossed over his shoulder and clatters on the floor behind him. "I'm personally offering a reward for this criminal and his men to be brought to justice. Ten gold apiece ($800), fifty gold for the killer ($4,000), all dead or alive—and between you and I, dead would probably cause less of a stir among the people—not that I'm abiding vigilantism! But, I'm sure you understand we'd rather not remind people of the recent tragedy, drag the community through the pain of a trial and all that messy business. "I have a lead on the murderer's current whereabouts. He's with his band of outlaws holed up in a cave to the west, near the crossroads, bout five day's travel from here, but they won't be there for long. Here's a map to the location." He places a scroll on the table. "Now, don't go a causing a ruckus around town. Handle this with care. People's got enough to worry about without news of more bandits on the roadway. I think if you all went in, swords a swinging, you could get the job done right in a hurry and no one would know the wiser. I'll handle the public. You just report to me and me alone on this one. I'll make sure you're rewarded and the kingdom is aware of your bravery and service." Again, the sergeant leans back in his chair and looks his audience up and down as if measuring their worth. "Well? What say ye?"