The Shield Brethren guild hall tended to be busy in bursts as people came-and-went between jobs.  In moments of low business, the hall could end up packed to the brim with people looking over the forums and waiting for assignments.  This was not the case now; there was much to do across the land.

Monsters were always a problem, even with Caerbean and guild patrols.  The odd zombie or ghoul blight always had to be dealt with and it was a mark of pride for a group to handle it before the Paladins showed up.  The Swamp Road tended to tie up large numbers of bodies in an eternal effort to keep the jungles and bogs from reclaiming it and to protect merchants on their way to and from the Highlands.  There was always the rare chance that a dangerous Other would appear from the void and begin a rampage.  That was without even mentioning the usual antics that mere people could get into!

Currently, tensions were high between the District of Hectate far to the North and Caerbea to the South.  Raids from the North had terrorized settlements resulted in an increased risk of undead and rogue summoned monsters.  While the District military was commonly considered to be a well funded joke, their blood mages, summoners and necromancers were greatly feared.  On top of that was news of Iron Harbor's once-thought impervious walls being breached and the city plundered.  News was conflicted but it was clear by now, months after the incident, that this was more of a large scale terror attack than a sacking of the noble city.  The action confused many, seeing as Iron Harbor and Caerbea weren't friendly toward each other.

In the fallout of that attack, many summoned monsters had broken loose from their handlers.  The Church's battle clerics were quick to the scene but the rumor was that they had been savaged by retreating District mercenaries.  There was still no word on how many died in the city but rumors suggested as few as hundreds and as many as half the population of Terrenum itself.

Currently, there were only a few adventuring groups in the guild hall between deployments and a handful of people who were too old, too young or too broken to contribute.  Ezlan's bombastic entrance earned him more than a few annoyed and confused glares from those present but nobody answered him directly.

The runners moved one-by-one to report on their task and point out their charges.  The soon-to-be new group had a few minutes to mill about before a voice boomed over the modes commotion.

"Oie!  You there," yelled a man.  "Yes, you lot!"

The voice's owner was a bear of a man.  He had a pot belly and a limp along with a large and varied number of scars running over his body.  Although he was later in his years (probably half way through his thirties) and had clearly gained a fair bit of weight, his thickly muscled build was impossible to ignore.  Judging by the silver coin pinned to his shirt, he was also an officer in the guild.

"You're late.  Get your asses over here.  You," he boomed, putting one of his big, gnarled hands on the short red-headed runner's shoulder and giving her a push toward the hall.  "Show 'em where to go."

He crossed his arms over his chest and turned to watch the door after that.  The man seemed to be expecting somebody else to show up.  By the look in his eyes and the sour expression on his face, he didn't seem excited for whoever was meant to walk in next.

The woman kept her head down and urgently gestured for Ezlan, Erevan, Eomer and Loran to follow her.

The guild hall was a bit larger on the inside than it seemed.  With the days growing longer as Summer crept in, it was also quite warm at this time of day.  Tall windows ran the length of each exterior wall capable of opening high and low to get some air flow through the building.  They remained shut, however, to try and keep the smell of the streets out.

"Mind your manners in there," the young woman was saying as they took only a few short turns.  "And for the grace of Serenrae, don't say anything, Ezlan!"

Quickly, they found themselves at a large and ornate door.  The runner knocked and a feminine voice answered, allowing them entrance.  Once they were in, she shut the door behind them and hurried off to her duties.

Inside, the four of them would see a big, well decorated office.  On the right wall were shelves of books from floor to ceiling.  Any close examination would tell that most of them were ledgers, job records and logistics logs; basic boring accounting crap.  The back wall, behind the desk, was mostly windows.  They were open to try and work up some manner of breeze while incense burned to mask the street smell.  On the left wall was a closed door and a minibar filled with exotic bottles from distant lands as well as lots of locally produced bourbon.  The bottles were locked behind a modestly beautiful stained glass set of cabinet doors.  A large desk took up most of the center of the room, in front of the windows.  It was a big, fancy piece and had scuffs and scars from its many years of service - and it might have been salvaged from a previous adventure.

The Guild Master sat in a big wicker chair designed to let the warmth of a body drain away instead of being captured by something made out of stuffed leathers.  She had jet black hair (although, by now, streaked with gray), brown eyes and an irritated scowl on her face.  By all accounts, she might have been quite pretty when she was younger and it was clear she kept herself fit and in good shape for being halfway through her thirties.

"Ah, there you are," she said.  She sat back in her chair with a glass tumbler held to her forehead.  Surprisingly, the tumbler held ice in it; ice was rare at this time of the year.  The glass itself was probably real lead crystal as it caught the light brilliantly - likely an expensive import from Kingsland.  There was a golden coin pinned to her shirt showing the guild's sigil.  This was her badge of authority and revealed her as the proprietor of the guild.

Her eyes narrowed as she looked the four of you over.  "You're missing one," her tone turned cold at that and she muttered something about somebody being 'unreliable'.  "On your way out, find your fifth; a person named Nemeia.

"I'm sure you heard about the attack on Iron Harbor," she began without ceremony.  "We've had to divert a lot of our best up North to clean that mess up.  It seems many of the demons and undead spawned by those cursed blood letters went wild after the fight.  They're terrorizing homes all across the region.  The Castellan is at his limits and his guards are pulling double duty as city constables just to keep order.  Put it simply, everybody is short-staffed over this.  That's why I called you lot in here."

She paused and took a drink of her glass.  There wasn't much drink left in it, yet the ice provided enough water to wet her lips.

[b]Meanwhile, in the guild hall...[/b]

Nemeia was lead into the guild hall behind her runner not even five minutes after the others met with the Guild Master (or, Guild Mistress, as it turned out).  When she walked in, a tall, heavily built fellow with a plump belly and a fair number of scars began to work his jaw as if he had tasted something sour.  He had his arms crossed over his chest, neatly showing off the many scarss he had earned, and favored one of his legs with his stance.

"it's right this way-"

"You're done here," the burly man barked at the runner.

Startled, the fellow turned quickly and began to speak.  "Sir, I need to lead her to-"

"I said you're done here," he repeated.  "Now scare off."

The runner lifted his hands and his brow as if to say, 'not my problem'.  The silver coin on the big man's shirt showed that he was an officer who far out-ranked a lowly runner.  He slipped out of the guild just as quickly as he arrived.

In a deliberate, slow motion, the big man leaned his head forward and spat onto the floor in Nemeia's direction.

"Nothin' for you here."