Yaroslav sat in the dark dirty alley his back against the cold wet wall with his feet outstretched before him. He stared forward watching the large orange and white stripped rats scurry between the forgotten rotting barrels and piles of moldering debris. He had spent the last four hours trying to force himself to move but had thus far been unsuccessful. Every time he attempted to stand his limbs seemed to turn to lead and he would fall back down into the damp filth. He had arrived in Riverhope five days prior. Before this he had been preforming enforcer work for an upstart elf Lord by the name of Galvish Bramblethorn in a small muddy town a three day walk to the North. His duties to the Lord had been varied, one day he would be leading a team of mercenaries against one of Galvish’s many enemies the next he would be extorting gold or food from some backwater eleven village that was unfortunate enough to be under Galvish’s control. Despite the unpleasantness of the work Galvish had been Yaroslav’s kind of leader; a man of action who almost preferred when things got messy and did not set limits on how much or in what ways Yaroslav had used magic. Yaroslav had briefly been content there, then the messenger came. A short confident human had ridden into town on horseback with a letter he said was for Yaroslav’s eyes only. It only took seeing from whom the letter had come from for Yaroslav to know that he needed to comply. After a brief confrontation Galvish had released Yaroslav from his contract and the mage had begun his journey to Riverhope. He had heard the stories of Riverhope’s beauty and of the happiness of its people, and the moment he entered the city Yaroslav had known the stories to be true. This was not his place. His place was one of blood, mud, and death, this city was a place of love, art, and life. As soon as he entered the city and realized that he did not belong he had found this alley between a tannery and a brickworks. He had been here amongst the dirt and decay for the last two days unable to will himself to go forth into this wondrous place. Yaroslav was about to attempt to stand once more when he felt something crawl up onto his lap. He did not have to look down to know that this creature was the small young black cat that had been his only companion the last two days. It was an obvious stray, hunger and disease apparent in its features and demeanor but after a time it had become friendly and loving. Yaroslav enjoyed its company and would feed it little bits of dried elk jerky from his pack and would stroke it under its chin as it slept on his lap. As Yaroslav started to pet the cat now he began to entertain the thought of bringing the little creature with him on his travels, he had seen many soldiers keep a sturdy leather pack to carry small pets along during his time in the service and he thought that his new friend deserved a better life than living on the streets. Then as his hand gently passed over the length of the cat’s body Yaroslav snapped out of his daydream and felt an all too familiar wetness. He looked down to see his feline friend’s body covered in blood. A gaping wound ran the length of the cat’s back down to the bloody stump that had once been its back right leg. Yaroslav did not know how the cat had been injured so terribly but he did know just by a brief glance that the wound was fatal. The cat looked up at him and mewed weakly. Yaroslav looked down at his hand now covered in the animal’s blood and he knew what must be done. He began to let his magic flow. At first the blood on his hand seemed to begin to steam then boil as it evaporated into a thin red mist. The magic flowed through his body as he looked down at the animal he had hoped to be his travel companion and he watched as its blood began to pour thick and red from its wounds. The cat laid its head down on Yaroslav’s lap and closed its eyes while its blood spilled down onto Yaroslav’s lap and soaked into the fabric of his robe. Then the flow of magic stopped. This was how his spell Blood Siphon worked a steady painless flow of blood out of a wound and when the target’s heart stopped beating the flow of magic stopped. Yaroslav slowly and painfully stood cradling the limp dead body of his friend in his arms. He carried the poor creature to a small patch of bushes next to a tree on the sunny side of the main road outside of the alley. He used his hands to dig a shallow grave and buried the first creature that might have loved him in a long time. Once the grave was finished Yaroslav turned and walked toward the Hearth and Flagon. It was time for this mysterious meeting with royalty and he was cover head to toe with filth and blood. He actually smirked at this as he thought “At least everyone there will know exactly what kind of man I am.” He entered the tavern ten minutes later. He saw that many other individuals had beaten him there and they were mingling. He heard tones of familiarity in some of the conversations and the enthusiasm of introductions in others. He paid no mind to the people or their conversations as he walked directly to the first available chair sat down and closed his eyes in thought of what might be to come.