[center][h1]The Accomplished[/h1][/center]
[h3][color=gold]Acamen Hopsfield[/color][/h3]

Acamen sat in his parent's tavern, taking a break from the process of brewing.  It was a harsh, but rewarding process.  Sweat dripped from his brow, but it was always worthwhile to help his elderly parents around their house.  With the extra business caused by the cold, they needed it desperately.  The brewer's son had offered many times to buy them a castle and some servants, but the couple always wanted to live the modest life.  Initially Hopsfield couldn't comprehend their want of moderation, but over the course of many years he had grown to understand his parents.

Still, the white mage wasn't sure where he would be if he hadn't headed out on his first quest at the tender age of fourteen, or leaving permanently at sixteen.  What if he had stopped when he had gotten married?  Acamen's thoughts slowly drifted back to his years of adventure, along with all the fun and all the suffering.  The suffering ...

The hole of those lost never truly healed, but over time others covered the wounds.  Hopsfield looked up, noticing his daughter running towards him along with a messenger boy.  Acamen looked at the poor kid, raising his hand to stop him.  [color=gold]"I'm retired.  Tell your lord to find someone else to save him from whatever is bothering him."[/color]  The kid wheezed, almost collapsing on the ground.  Ezekala steadied the messenger, and despite his reluctance to speak to the child Hopsfield restored his endurance instantly with a flick of the wrist and a small spell.

The messenger blinked, surprised at his sudden recovery, and immediately handed the letter to Acamen.  The light mage browsed through the contents, then looked back at the child.  [color=gold]"I'll be at my tower.  Send the others there.  I have some things that may be useful for our trip."[/color]

The messenger smiled, glad his trip turned out well.  "You won't regret this Exemplar!  I knew we could count on you!"

Acamen glared back at the child, giving off his best and most intimidating smile.  [color=gold]"You're wrong.  I already have."[/color]

[b]Two weeks Later[/b]
As Acamen returned to his tower in the north, he realized that none of the letter's contents had been false.  While the village had been unusually cold for it's location, the rest of the world had snow.  Acamen's calendar stated it was July, but he wasn't sure.  For the most part, he avoided cities and therefore avoided the worst of the suffering.

He returned to the mountain that marked his home.  It was a small but steep mountain, the black inclines at a large enough angle to prevent the grip of snow.  On top of it rested the Tower of Gold, which was really more of a fortress.  The walls were made of what appeared to be marble, and the roofs of the various towers along the edge had golden caps placed upon them.  In the center stood a keep grand enough to be the envy of kings.

The only way to reach to top conventionally was to take a drawbridge that lowered onto a nearby hill, and to travel through a short underground ramp until one reached the plateu that the mountain stood on.

The drawbridge lowered as he approached, and the white mage entered the warmth of the keep as quickly as possible.  The others should arrive sometime during the next day, and then they would be off.  For the most part, the keep should have ample previsions for their journey.