[i]Year of the EverGod 2189 A.D.[/i] (After Decimation). [u][i]One week later.[/i][/u]
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"Mercenaries," the statesman said with disdain, pacing back and forth. "Cutthroats...Sellswords." He was obviously overcome with disgust. The room within the keep was dark this night, with only one torch and a small fire in the fireplace to illuminate the secret chamber.
"A legitimate organization, [i]and guild[/i], if they win." Lord Deckett reminded him, lounging in his chair. "Fine." his colleague said. "[i]Up-jumped[/i] Cutthroats. [i]Legitimate[/i] Sellswords. Loyal to nothing but their coinpurse and mad grabs for meager power."
"Sounds like humanity." a voice from the darkness uttered. Deckett bothered to glance that way, but his business associate Lord Harold didn't even grace their guest with acknowledgement. Harold continued, his stately visage visible even in the dim lightning. "Is this really the sort we can trust?" 
"We don't have to trust them, but this is the exact sort that we need." Deckett said, leaning forward. A shorter man, he still commanded great respect from rivals and allies alike. "Someone who is famous enough to be known, but not known enough to be loved. Someone who is believable, perhaps with a criminal background? Someone people celebrate to see but no one will miss. [i]Prize winners[/i]." 
"And you can convince the Count to hire them?" Harold asked. Deckett's lips curved into a smile. "Of course I can. We're old friends." That last statement seemed to convince Harold, and he turned to the shadows that hid the third voice. The flickering hearth fire illuminated their pale and deadly guest every few moments. 
"Where is your kin?" Harold asked the Vampire. Varo'shus leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed. His disheveled blonde hair lightly covered his predatory eyes. "Just because we are both of the blood does not make him my Kin. But if you refer to Drakelid, how should I know? Probably wooing some tavern wench to bed and sup the blood of." 
"We've paid quite a lot for your services, Vampire. We expect a clean job." Deckett said, giving an amused smile as he spoke. If the Vampire still drew breath, he would have sighed. "Fear not." he replied in a tired tone, as if he had been repeating himself. His cultured and pale hand fell upon the hilt of his rapier. "The Count will not even feel it." 
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[i]Dawn of the next day...[/i]
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Starkvale's huge stone walls stretched across the small valley that lead into the greater Dethu'lun, both ends reaching the northern and southern mountain ranges to completely block off the pass. Before the wall, a huge field stretched outwards that lead into the forest, and the southern and northern mountain passes. Right outside of the gates was a shanty town of tents and huts, with cooking fires already being lit for breakfast as sellswords, mercenaries, refugees, and travelers selling their wares began their day. Near the center of the camp, a young sellsword and a Dwarven warrior stepped out of their tent.
The Prince handed the Dwarf the map that represented the tent of everyone he was to visit, and gave Morek a pat on the shoulder. "Remember, we want to make an impression later, not now. Make sure you don't stop to talk to anyone." Kayden said. Morek just looked at him, for a very long time. "...Right, I don't know what I was thinking. Ok, good luck." 
The massive plate armored Dwarf gave Kayden a thumbs up, and headed out into the sea of tents, moving with the strength and purpose of a steamroller. The dark haired Prince hefted his pack, and decided to check around the small shanty town for any drinks and chairs he could purchase. He just hoped a few real Mercenaries took his message seriously. He and two others, even so formidable as his companions, couldn't pull this off alone. Before the afternoon, every Mercenary Kayden had thought would be helpful to their mission received a letter as followed.

[i]If you're looking to get into Starkvale, and looking for some bounties to grab, meet me and my friends at the ruins of the old guard tower, north east of the field. Meet us at dusk. I contacted you because I believe you'll be of some use. Hope to see you. 
Captain Kayden[/i].

As the day slipped into afternoon, Kayden and Morek made their way over. Passing the northeastern edge of the tents, they passed through a wooded gully with a small stream, before finding themselves going through a bit of the forest proper under a thick canopy of trees, before they reached a sudden curve up, indicating a hillock with scattered trees that led to a small summit near the northern mountains before they spread out into the wider Dethu'lun. At the top of the Hillock was a wrecked watchtower. Only reaching up to its halfway point, once you stepped inside there was a rotted wooden roof above that used to be the first floor you would reach after climbing the stairs. Two sides of the tower were shattered, the stones scattered about as if a giant had pummeled gaping holes in it with a warmaul. It gave a fine view of the trees and lowlands however. The fireflies flared and dimmed before Kayden's eyes, and the sun behind the mountains made the world seem dimmed and blue, except for the fiery torch flickering at his back, set upon the wall. Once people arrived, they would find Kayden at the head of a table that curved outwards. Morek stood at the entrance with his Axe haft upon the ground, his gauntlets resting on his Axe head. Before each chair set at the able, was a pint of Ale. Kayden hoped he and Morek didn't need to drink them all.