The young woman pulled the hood of her wool cloak further over her pale face as the frigid rain sprinkled like needles from above. Her skinny figure left her perpetually cold in the harsh climate of Vasili, and Sarah longed for the mild summers of home. Now more than ever she wished to charter passage south, back toward Lion’s Keep, and leave this brutal world behind. Instead, she rode west to The Cross Roads, where it was rumored that King Barius was assembling a team of champions to put an end to the scourge which she and her temporary companions were now fleeing.   
  
Sarah could faintly see her copper stallion’s breath coming in puffs as he trotted along to keep up with the other horses in the small group of refugees. He was a fine animal with a hardy disposition, Cavil had always said so. It was for this reason Sarah had sold off her own mare at only a slight loss to some villagers she had established a rapport with. She had begged them, and any other villager who would listen to accompany her south to safety. She knew that this plague would spread quickly, and next to none was prepared to withstand it. Her own husband, Cavil, had been exposed to and overcome by the sickness within hours. Sarah had never seen anything like it. It was downright unnatural. Alas, only a handful of men and women had decided to follow the healer away from their homes which were not far south of Titus. Where they would settle once they reached The Cross Roads, Sarah didn’t know. She was only sure of one thing, the plague must be stopped, and she, Sarah Mane, would see it done.

The woman’s eyes were barely open when someone in the procession shouted that they could see the fires of The Cross Roads. With that, the entire group pressed forward with renewed strength. The town was of average size and wealth for a Vasili settlement. To Sarah, everything North of Southarbour looked about the same. Lots of mud, and lots of ancient wooden buildings. As they neared the heart of the settlement, Sarah’s group began to split apart, each man going his separate way. A few raised their hands in respect to her as the departed, several more ignored her entirely. Sarah acknowledged those who acknowledged her with a nod of her head before leaving to locate “The Kevil Arms”. 

From the outside, the tavern looked like the last place Sarah would expect a mission of import to be headed. But there was no mistaking the sign which indicated that this hovel was indeed the place she had been searching for. Sarah scoffed under her breath, [i]“As if the average person in this town could read”[/i]. One or two people entered the tavern ahead, and Sarah hoped this would make her own entrance a bit less noticeable. She wanted to gain a bit of insight as to the plan this “Consano” had formulated before committing herself to anything. Sliding off her horse, Sarah strained to stand up straight. Her hard working hands were far too calloused to be bothered by four days of holding reigns. However her hips had not been broken to a saddle in many months. She knew that when next she had a chance to undress, she would note impressive bruising along the inner aspects of her ivory thighs. Sarah cursed her bony figure. She unstrapped the large pack from her saddle and swung the strap over one shoulder, refusing the leave its precious contents unattended.

Waddling through the doors of the inn, Sarah stopped short and shuffled to the side. Lowering her hood and resting up against the wall, she took in the sight before her. A young blond man was kneeling before a panel of two, a knight and a lady. The prostrate man introduced himself as “Gawain Rochilde” and stretched his sword out before him as a profession of loyalty. Sarah raised an eyebrow at the theatrics of it all. [i]“He must enjoy putting on a show”[/i] she thought to herself, noting the informal and relaxed posture of every other soul in the room. All except the older dark haired man sitting at the table, whom Gawain was kneeling before and addressed as “Sir Chester”. That particular man sat straight and stoic, he seemed astutely aware of his surroundings. This was a bit of a contrast to his female companion who was slouched in her own chair, lazily sharpening her knife. She seemed more interested in a tall dark woman standing nearby than she did in the thin blond man on the floor. The man and woman looked slightly out of place in their rich threads and fine armor. Their weapons were of a superior, heavy quality. Sarah wondered if this pair really was Sir Chester and Lady Buxton, whom it was rumored were to be the head of this new Consano. She would know soon enough.