[color=DBA901][h2]K O P R U S T[/h2][/color][hr]

	Rain drenched the city of Koprust. All but the main streets turned to mud, and those cobbled lanes became muddy too in short order. It was a miserable, cold rain from dark clouds turning day into night. Torvellians were used to this kind of rain. Merchants continued to wheel their carts through the gloom and the normal folk plodded along on their daily tasks. A little rain was nothing to complain about. A bit of mud on one's boots was hardly the worst thing they'd stepped in. It was far lighter than a shackle, after all, and didn't stain the way blood did.
	To say it was a beautiful city would be a crude joke. It's walls were of ancient timbers hewn from the Old Forest, at first as a simple palisade and then clumsily added onto as the city grew from bandit fort into capital city. It's streets were hardly planned well, twisting and winding, a blessing to thieves that preyed on lost visitors. Homes were stacked next to businesses and invariably leaning to one side or another. Miraculously, there were few instances of collapse or fire or calamity of any kind. Things in Torvelt simply Worked, and it's people just as simply Made Do. That was the charm of it. There wasn't necessarily a 'rich part' of Koprust, there were only ones that smelled better than others.
	Perhaps the best smelling of all was also the most recognizable from any point in the city. The Castle of Koprust stood in the very center, upon the highest hill, an extremely defensible position that the first King of Torvelt recognized immediately. It's walls were of sturdy dark stone, it's windows naught but slits made for arrows. Decadence was unknown to even the royal family of the land, only prudence. And it was here, on this average dreary day of the year, that a historic gathering of heroes was taking place.
	
	The throne room of Castle Koprust was bare of gold or jewelry, and resembled more a meadhall with particularly fine hunting trophies. Long wood tables were normally laid out in the huge expanse of the room, but these were now pushed to the walls to make room for all those inside to stand at attention. At the top of a raised floor were two empty wooden thrones, along with a line of guardsmen. A bard strummed a melodic chord, to cut through the murmur of talking from all those that had answered the King's call for heroes.
	Guardsmen parted, and made way for the King and Queen of Torvelt. They held hands as they walked around and to the front of their thrones, only breaking that touch when the queen gracefully seated herself. Queen Lianna wore age beautifully, grey streaks in her black hair, lines accentuating her clever eyes. However, those normally crafty brown eyes were puffy and shot, and her face was hollow and pale. She did not wipe away tears that even now were coming. In the span of days, she had aged years.
	King Brand was little different. The stocky hill of a man was known for his virility, his bushy red beard, his mess of hair and his fat red nose. Now, he limped forward a step, to address the crowd assembled before him. He looked tired, but trying to fight it with all his might. His wooden cane stabbed into the ground at his feet, clasped in both his hands, he rose his booming voice.
	
	"I greet you all, on this day, a day of both sadness and of glory. A day I never wished I'd have to see." The King said to all, some dozens of adventurers standing in the hall. 
	"My boy has been taken from me." His voice caught, but he pressed on angrily. "Prince Owen. But of course, you all known that much. It is why you've been gathered here today. You all have read my decree. This vile Fog has stolen from me a son, and from the people of this land much more than that. Whole villages of sons and daughters. And before I talk of glory and riches and reward, I must first make sure I send no more sons and daughters to their deaths, unaware."
	At this some of the adventurers began to grow restless, eyeing one another.
	"We have no idea what the Fog is." He said, monotone, words hollow. "We've no cure for it. We've no way to fight against it. We have not even a way of predicting from whence it comes and when. It is an invisible enemy, an omnipresent one, and any that take up this quest will have little hope of success. To even survive is unlikely."
	With every word, some of the many dozens of men and women began shifting more uneasily. A few began to turn, and walk for the exit.
	"Go ahead, those of you that wish." The king looked towards the line of people streaming out. "I bear no ill will to any that leave now."
	The king waited, as more lost their courage and left the room, until there was but a small fraction left standing.
	"To you who still remain, I applaud your courage. And I tell you what I offer you in return." King Brand held up his hand, in oath. "Any that undertake this quest and bring my son home to me, I swear this reward. You shall have one favor of me, King Brand of Torvelt, that I shall be dutybound to honor as long as it is possible. Whatever wish you have, I shall make true. If gold is all that you prefer, then riches you shall have as well."
	He lowered his hand, and looked on the remaining heroes.
	"Those that accept this quest, rise your voice, and tell me your names."