It was an unusually warm morning and Cherry remained in the water after cleaning herself. When the two visitors arrived she was sitting there half submerged and facing away from the shore, leaning back on both arms, legs spread open and floating off the riverbed, knees periodically breaking the reflective surface of the water. She was in a shaded area of the shallows, beneath the palm-like looming limbs of a fretter tree while rays of golden sunlight poked and prodded at the water all around her. If not for the visitors turning up unannounced and uninvited, it would have been a perfectly peaceful morning.

They hadn’t made a lot of noise - the two visitors, that is - but they hadn’t made any secret of their arrival, either. Even without the crackling of litter underfoot and the murmured conversation they were having, the potent scent of a woman - probably a Vanylan by the specific perfume type - would have given them away. Judging by the voices of their murmured conversation, the other of the pair was a man. Both of them, too, may have been aware that Cherry was aware of their arrival, though she made no indication of such. She ignored them. Pretended they weren’t there. Hoping they’d lose whatever interest they may have had in her and leave. Hoping more than anything that neither of them would spoil the atmosphere any more than it already was by actually saying something.

It wasn’t to be.

One of them, the man as it were, prepared to speak with a rather loud clearing of his throat.

"Look…" She said, before he could commence with his introduction. The irritation was clear in her voice. She didn’t bother looking back to see them. "…Make it quick then leave. I’m not in the mood for problems today."

There was a moment of quiet. Cherry could imagine them looking peculiarly at each other. It was quickly obvious to anyone who met Cherry that she wasn’t big on social conduct. And now they knew that too.

‘We are here on business." Said the Vanylan. Apparently they now found it more appropriate that the woman does the talking, which, and in combination with her telling tone, indicated that the man was a Danorian. And that made Cherry instantly curious. "This will not take long," continued the woman, "if you don’t like what we are proposing we will leave and you will not hear from us again. On one condition."

Cherry almost laughed but refrained. But her eyebrows furrowed and she looked back over her shoulder for the first time and glared at them both. "Condition??" She almost yelled. "You’re making a condition for something that you are imposing on me? Are you out of your mind, woman? Well now I’ve just heard it all!"

In a moment Cherry was standing, water streaming off her fresh, naked body as she walked towards a small bundle of clothes on the shore in front of the visitors – and they were suddenly cautious, stepping a few steps back as she approached. The man was more than just cautious, though. His eyes were wide, face reddening with both embarrassment and excitement, one hand gripping white-knuckled to the handle of the knife on his belt like it might provide him some security - security from the overwhelming sense of sensuality that was currently attacking him.

"If you have coin," Cherry suggested with a sneer while tugging on her trousers, "you can take more than a look." As she tied the string to hold the trousers around her waist, she jerked her head in direction of her home – little more than a rundown shack – and added, "Not in my home, though, don’t want it tainted with the smell of sex, we’ll have to go do it in the bushes –"

"That won’t be necessary!" The Vanylan intervened sharply before the Danorian could find any way to respond. She was shocked, appalled, completely unprepared to hear that sort of profane conduct born from the mouth of another woman, Vanylan or otherwise. "We are not here on that sort of business – And I would appreciate it if you kept that sort of filth stealthy in my presence."

Cherry gave the man a playful wink as she slipped on her pale-green short sleeve top. "No." She then said to the woman. "This is where I live, you understand? You come around to my home, disturb my bath, and expect me to conform to your principles? Your ways? No way, sister. You don’t like what I say, what I do, then you know where the road out of here is." She gave both her visitors a severe, ominous look. "Doesn’t matter anyway, because I’ll tell you what." She paused to grin. "You tell me what my name is, and you can stay and we can chat. You can’t tell my name, you can piss off right now.’

This was a trick ultimatum from Cherry, and there were several moment of silence to follow. The visitors, whatever they wanted from her, had not known what to expect from Cherry, and what they had discovered had not helped in the process of their decision making on that matter. They both just stared dumbly, gave each other baffled looks, and then stared dumbly at her some more. Both of them were taller than Cherry, though the woman was taller than the man with the typical broad shoulders and athletic build of a Vanylan woman, which were also physical attributes that Cherry herself lacked. The woman’s face was equally broad, strong jawline, pointy chin, with fiery red frizzy hair and pale blue eyes. Red hair was actually unusual for any Vanylan. The man, however, was a little on the pudgy side. Not fat per se, but not exactly supporting a physique worthy of prestige in a land bent on war. His features were rather ordinary, too. Dark hair. Dark eyes. A little stubble around baby-fat cheeks and chin. One of those people who are difficult to define when it comes to physical descriptions. Fortunately, and in spite of the shocking proposal Cherry had just made, he was quickly getting over his sexual insecurity. The redness drained from his face, the grip on his knife loosened, and the rhythm of his breathing returning to a less stressful level as he decided to be the next person to speak:

"We apologize for our seemingly intrusive and ill-informed conduct. We aren’t sure of your name but were hoping to find out today." His tone took on one of apparent, though subtle admiration. "Please allow us to introduce ourselves. This is Aysha, a Vanylan, and my name is Zein, I am Danorian.’

Aysha and Zein both looked at Cherry expectantly, as though she should have been taken aback or even impressed by what he had said. She wasn’t. She couldn’t have cared less if a Vanylan and Danorian could be comrades. But she did learn what she had intended to learn from his response to her request. They hadn’t asked around about her, not even so much as to find out her name, which meant that the reason they had for visiting her was secret.

Curious, but not showing with visual expression, she replied candidly, "Call me Cherry if you want. Never knew my birth name. What’s so big a secret, besides consorting with the enemy – a fact no one would know for sure unless you told them anyway – would be so big and hush-hush that you couldn’t even ask around in Bellsound (the nearby Vanylan town) for my name?"

Again the two visitors appeared set back, but this time by her whit. They didn't appear to have expected someone with a brain.

"And another thing," Cherry continued brazenly, "if your cause is so secret, and you are determined for word about it not to get out, then am I to assume you plan to kill me if I’m less than receptive to your cause than you had of hoped? Because I can tell you now, I’m going to be less receptive than you hope. But I can also tell you that I care so little about your cause, whatever it might be, that I wouldn’t even consider telling anyone. So you can tell whoever you have hiding behind that shrub to the east to come out from hiding. He’ll be the one to die before ever getting the chance to kill me."

Both visitors were momentarily dumbfounded. No longer feeling safe to be standing anywhere near Cherry, they took another step back in unison. Aysha then looked towards the tree line to the east and nodded to the person hiding in the bushes. A moment passed before a middle-aged man stepped out with a bow lowered to his side, an apologetic look on his face.

"Now…" Cherry said, refraining from sighing, "Why don’t you idiots tell me why you’re here now. And make it snappy, I told you before that I don’t like wasting time."

Aysha and Zein briefed each other with a short look before Aysha started to explain as briefly and concisely as she could:

"We are part of a society, if you will, called Goldroot, an organization of both Vanylan and Danorian who have grown weary of the conflict between our peoples and want nothing more than to bring this war to an end. As you can imagine, Cherry, this is easier said than done. We aren’t big or strong enough yet to simply intervene directly in any effective way. But we have recently devised a plan that may help our cause. Be it a great uncertainty of success, of course, but we are willing to try anything at this point." She paused to compose herself in a way that someone might prepare not to look foolish for saying something that is obviously a foolish thing to say: "Have you heard of The Beggars Glaive?"

Cherry sneered mockingly as Aysha explain Goldroot to her, and then actually laughed when she asked about The Beggars Glaive.

"I may be a recluse," she answered, "but would literally have to of been hiding under a rock all my life not have heard about the Glaive at some point. It’s like one of the most well-known fairy tales around. A freaking bedtime story for any kid who has ever been told a bedtime story. What’s your point? Oh! Wait, let me guess." She laughed some more, continuing to make no secret of her mockery. "You extremist nuts actually think the thing is real and plan to find it. Am I right?"

"We have reason to believe it is more than just a myth." Said Zein, making an obvious effort not to let his integrity be affected in a negative way by Cherry’s insolence. "In fact, we have it on good authority that it resides in a place called Ghostmans Pit in The Forest of Assis."

"You have it on good authority, do you?" She replied snidely, "That a mythical weapon resides in a place that has also never been proven to exist. You guys are really something, let me tell ya."

Aysha was offended now. "I assure you that The Forest of Assis is a place. I’ve been there myself."

"You know full well I’m not talking about Assis, you idiot." Cherry turned her nose up. "Just tell me one person you know that can say the same about Ghostmans Pit? A place of monsters and other supernatural perils created by the malevolent Gods? Give me a break, woman."

Aysha swallowed hard. She seemed hurt, regretting having ever met Cherry. Zein on the other hand was making a decent effort of keeping his positivity, even if it meant lying to Cherry.

"We know someone who has been there." He said, raising his chin a little and squinting as if preparing to be sprayed in the face by something.

"No you don’t." Cherry told him.

His shoulders slumped a little.

"Look…" Cherry continued, "I realize how important your cause must seem to you, but it isn’t to me. For all I care the war can continue without end, amen. But tell me something," She said with a sudden change of tone, as if she had just realized something that might actually be of importance to her, "What exactly would you guys want me to do? And uh… why me, exactly?"

Both Zein and Aysha were visibly suspicious of Cherry’s change of demeanor, but humored her request nonetheless.

"The task would be very simple," Said Zein, "though it would have its fair share of dangers. You would go find the Beggars Glaive and bring it back to us. That is all. We would of course be willing to pay you handsomely for it."

"We chose you because of what you are," Aysha added, new hope forming in her words, "You were witnessed in Oakfish Bay some time ago. You were involved in a brawl that took place, between you and several others, including a man known as Morvayn. You do remember the occasion, I presume?"

"I do indeed." Cherry smirked, amused by the memory.

"It was on that day that your witch abilities were witnessed. They are… something few, if any, have seen before. In light of those abilities and the circumstances that took place around the incident in Oakfish we… we felt that you may be the perfect choice for this mission."

"And I knew I’d come to regret that night more than I already did." Cherry murmured and rolled her eyes. "But that’s what I get for drinking too much."

"But you wouldn’t be going alone." Zein informed her. "We have at least one other to accompany you. We feel it would be safer that way."

"You mean you don’t trust me." Cherry replied.

"Would you trust you in our position?" Aysha asked.

"Fair point." Cherry winked. "So just one other?"

"We haven’t decided yet if sending more than two is necessary." Said Zein.

"And how much would I be getting paid?" Cherry asked. "That is if I even make it back alive?"

Aysha glanced at Zein who gave her a confirming nod.

Zein said, "More gold than you’d need to live on for several years."

Cherry let go of any remaining mocking demeanor and thought seriously for a moment. "Then tell me, who is this person Goldroot have chosen as my companion?"

They told her, and at first Cherry thought they were making a joke, some sort of payback for her own mockery. But they weren’t, and she became expressionless as she turned her back to them. She walked to the water’s edge and considered the proposal. It was true that she didn’t care for the war or their cause, and it wasn’t like she really needed the coin, either. But there was something, something more personal about the mission that had piqued her interest. Something that would keep nagging at her for a very long time if she were to pass up this opportunity. At the same time, she couldn’t possibly divulge this reasoning to these Goldroot's, so she decided to make it about the money, and a little about boredom, as she turned back towards them with a sloppy shrug of her shoulders:

"Alright then, sure. I have nothing else on my plate at the moment, and to be fair I could do with the coin. Who couldn’t, right? So when does this happen?"

The light was fluctuating and the air getting cold. It was one of those nights when the moon would turn invisible despite the fact it was more in the light than at any other point of its neverending journey around the world, only to reappear as a growing sickle a day later. Of course some clever humans had long since figured out that this was not some god's magic mockery, but the logical consequence of the strict application of simple geometry. What none of those brilliant intellects had discovered yet however was how to keep a tavern's main hall free of annoying odours such as human sweat, dirt-cheap ale or even vomit without opening the windows.

And so, much to Jared's disfortune, the exchange of air -- and heat -- was making progress. Some of the candles had been blown out altogether, others now lacked their pool of molten wax and the remainder looked as if spending more of the precious fuel on their respective trail of soot than on generating comforting light. And all of this took place while the tavern's owner, a rather large and bearded man by the name of Gregor, was busy containing the main fireplace's flames to where they belonged.

Some of the smoke found its way into Jared's large nostrils and caused some upheaval in his lungs. He coughed and the sudden jerk was not exactly welcomed by the chair underneath him. The wooden construction was burdened quite a bit beyond its original design limits, but after many years in this place only those samples of above-average workmanship had survived anyway. It held together, although not without considerable audible protest that in turn attracted the other patrons' attention. More greedy eyes staring at him... as if he had not already had enough of those this evening!

Seeking to evade the urge of just staring back at them, Jared focused in on the molten amber in front of him. This was not actually molten amber of course, but the color matched the name of this mildly alcoholic beverage. It was a nasty, poisonous thing: Being sweet and not too rough to one's tongue or throat and cheap enough not to empty one's pockets too quickly, it was a mixture one could consume without end until even what little alcohol was in there would start to strike back even against the most hardened of heavy drinkers. Or, in other words: Jared.

Not this time though, not today. He had made that mistake earlier this week, leading to a kind of tavern brawl he would certainly not forget so soon -- simply because he could not really consider himself to be the winner of that occasion. He had not lost really either, but someone else had stolen the entire show and made a lot more out of it than a mere bunch of men beating up another mere bunch of men and vice versa. What had been her name ? Jared failed to remember, even to the point that he couldn't tell whether he had ever learned about her name at some point in the first place. He put down the now empty tankard a little more loudly than would have bene necessary, just enough to give himself some morale boost that this definitely would have been the last one for today! Then he lifted himself out of the chair.

Higher. And higher. And even higher until his head was on the verge of colliding with the wooden ceiling above. Him losing some of his scalp this way was something the others in the room had silently hoped for since he had arrived hours ago, but this place just was too big and too well built for that to happen. This was Oakfish Bay after all, not some halfway run-down victim of the war that still dared to call itself a 'city'! What would he do without the occasional visit of this beautiful, still sprawling place...

------

Probably forget about the dird-cheap room he had chosen to rent. The only good thing about it was that it was situated very down to earth and not some stories higher up, so Jared had no need to try out the shabby and run-down looking staircase. He plunked himself down onto the simple bed and only then noticed the small piece of parchment someone had put on the round table. A letter it seemed for what else could it be ? He had told his parents and relatives about his journey here just like he did every time, so they probably wanted to know whether he had arrived and was doing well.

Yet, as his massive fingers struggled to unfold the tiny bit of dead animal skin, it became apparent to him that something was wrong even before his eyes had processed the very first word on it. He knew his relatives. He knew that they were addicted to accuracy and cleanliness to a degree that had upset him more than once in his youth, but what he saw now was anything but keeping up to these standards. The letters were written with apparent haste and little attention to detail. Overapplication of pressure and speed had caused the quill to bend and jump from place to place like a spring here and there, spraying droplets of ink all over the place. The whole thing was spoiled by the touch of many dirty fingers, something he had hardly ever encountered in his relatives' households.

Jared had to read twice to actually believe it: His home village, Harthar, had suddenly become a part of the frontline ? Yes, it had been in rather close proximity for years, but equally stable. Something must have happened and now the surviors were on the run, including some of his relatives. Which implied that some others had not made it in the same direction of, quite possibly, not at all.

Who did respond well to potential family losses, even though speculative and quite a few steps away from one's immediate parents or siblings ? Jared did not, but he did not fall into tragedy either. After a bad night with his feelings in turmoil a decision had been made: He'd join this mysterious organization that called itself 'Goldroot'! Where else should he go anyway now ? His old home was no more and a new one still had to be found, but also he could not stay here without work forever. Joining them hopefully would still allow him to visit his relatives and be of assistance to them, but something had to be done about the major scope of things, too!

At The Rams Cauldron, City of Oakfish Bay

Cherry Mayn grimaced as she swallowed hard, that dry slab of disgust sliding down her throat as she watched the bartender attempt to desecrate her favorite beverage. She couldn't let it happen. No more than a splash of that bitter-sweet amber liquid hit the bottom of the mug before she reached out to stop him - Her small hand latched to his wrist at the speed of a snake. Her short nails sunk into his skin like fangs.

Reno, the bartender, tilted the bottle back. The Ale stopped pouring. His eyes widened on Cherry, jaw shifted with a grind of his teeth in an effort not to disclose the pain she was inflicting on him.

"You need to unhand me."

"You need to find me a clean mug,' She replied, her expression placid as the sea before a storm. Her nails sunk a little deeper.

"Ma'am.... We clean all our mugs. Every one is wiped with my very own towel after each use." His eyes darted away form hers just long enough to regard the filthy excuse for the rag draped over his shoulder.

"In that case I'll be taking that bottle," She told him, released his wrist, and then slid a second coin across the counter for him, "and you can be doing something else for me, too."

Reno placed the bottle in front of her, left the mug where it was, and started to sooth the damage to his wrist with a slow caress of his other hand. He glared at her expectantly, but with distain.

She took up the bottle, savored two long swallows of the honey-hop ale and then leaned in against the counter to say it: "I'm looking to meet someone here by the name of Red." She kept her voice barely audible beneath the hum of the tavern activity. "Was told you could point me in the right direction."

Reno was a smallish man, little on the tubby side. One might call him stocky if not for the fact that he looked so soft and spongey all over. Each of his cheeks had a dimple, even when he wasn't smiling. His upper lip was thin, barely noticeable, and his dark, beady eyes hid with a hint of fear in the shadow of his large, bushy black eyebrows. His fat, purplish tongue, possibly suffering from a mouth disease, popped out from from between his lips as he deliberated for far too long on her request.

"I don't know anyone by the name of Red," he finally said, "Best you finish your ale and head off. We don't want no trouble here."

Suddenly the bottle of ale was on the counter again, and her hand was gripping tight to the hand that was soothing his wrist. It happened so fast that Reno was startled, a little dazed, as his eyes darted from the bottle, to her, then to the grip she once more had on him.

"I don't think you understand." As she spoke her eyes changed; the green color of her iris swirled with hues of purple and red. At the same time, Reno's surprised expression seemed to begrudge itself, as if disgusted by his own feelings. Then he started to show signs of what could only be described as strong sexual desire for Cherry. "I know Gorldroot has an establishment beneath this place," She continued, "Red is expecting me. They told me you would help, but now it seems like they lied. Is that true? Or are you the one lying to me?" Reno's face was now red with high blood pressure, like he was about to explode. He had to push up against his side of the counter to hide the bulge of his fast approaching climax, but then it stopped. His face strained as if he were being tortured. His ability to climax was being inhibited while his excitement remain. Several drunks nearby turned to gawk, though confused by what they may have actually been witnessing. Reno's consternation intensified, he rammed his throbbing manhood hard against the counter numerous times to try and relieve himself, wanting nothing more but to release it, but it just wouldn't happen while Cherry was finishing her interrogation. "You will tell me what I need to know. Won't you? Or would you prefer to feel like this forever. Wanting nothing more than to blow your load, but never being able to?"

Reno finally screamed out. The tavern went quiet as everyone turned to look. He gasped several times to try and gather his words, and then at last in a wheezing voice that he tried so desperately not to let everyone hear, he told her:

"The last chamber of the gents privy room. The metal panel at the back. Knock on it three times and then again twice."

Cherry smiled seductively, then blew gently on his face with puckered lips as she released her grip on him. Free again, Reno bellowed out like a sick hyena before finally, an instant later, his seed exploded into his pants and he collapsed against the counter with a long groan of relief. Cherry swallowed back the rest of her ale and left him there, heading in direction of the Privy at the back of the tavern. Along the way a few of the patrons requested she do the same for them as she had for Reno. She ignored them.

The privy room at the moment was empty. She started breathing through her mouth as to avoid the heavy odor of human waste as she walked to the last chamber. Once inside the chamber, she closed the door behind her. There was, as Reno had said, a metal panel behind the wooden Privy bench. She knocked on it three times, paused, then knocked again twice. Several seconds later she heard some activity behind the wall beside her. A dull click then sounded from the wall before the wall panel itself came loose at one side and opened like a door. A man with red hair, most likely the man named Red she had come to meet, stood at the threshold. He gave her a discerning nod, and invited her in.

She stepped through. The door was closed behind her. Red led her without a word down a short hallway and through another door. He opened it for her.

"The rest are inside. Make yourself at home." He said. "Look for a man named Ek. He's our leader. He'll tell you what's next."

Stepping into Goldroot's headquarters, Cherry stopped to take a look around....

If one thought of secret organizations, the world of official agents and those acting against those officials while trying to hide from them at the same time, one probably thought of clandestine meetings in the very humblest, most inconspicuous corners of the city. Shadows flickering across empty streets in pale moonlight, tiny candles being the only thing to illuminate the dark paths of those who did seek to remain unnoticed. People that would wander along on their toes while wearing dark cloaks and hiding their faces deep inside large capes. Secret rooms and weird, artificial languages to obfuscate one's true intentions just in case...

Yet the truth was that this was a very one-sided imagination. It was purely focused on the aspect of protecting against the terrible noises caused by a lousy bard who couldn't handle his instrument. How much better would it be however if one could simply get rid of the lousy bard ? The equivalent of this in said world of agents kinda was not to trigger any attention in the first place. Goldroot had informers and hidden channels that could tell them about changes in the guard's schedules, provide them with some advance warning in case a larger raid was planned or even commit to minor acts of sabotage. Yet all of this was dangerous and not available in every region and at every point of time, so the much simpler way to prevent attention was just to make things boring. Very boring.

Even so boring that Jared was quite a little surprised. What had been so wrong about expecting something more exciting than a simple man in shabby clothes sitting opposed to him at the same table of a very average-ish tavern called 'The Round Corner'?

"You look a little confused, my man." also was the first rection of Mr. Shabby-Clothes towards Jared, just after they had gone through inspecting each other's outer appearance. It threw Jared into immediate insecurity about what to answer, simply because he didn't know what was he allowed to tell. Could he even dare to openly mention the word 'Goldroot' ? Not opening his mouth, he stared back and forth between the man and the empty table separating them.

"I like not to eat during serious business, it just... distracts my mind." Shabby-Clothes continued, only confusing Jared further. "Two acres of goldroot are waiting to be harvested and I've got some other potential customers waiting in line, so are we up to a deal or not ?" Luckily this time of the year was the right one to make such statements. Hopefully this Jared would get it...

"Erm... yes. I think so. What is your price ?"

Shabby-Clothes' face immediately turned into a more friendly one. If one paid close attention one could see his eyes scan the room behind Jared's hulking shape in one swift move before his hand started digging into the depths of his rags. He shoved a pretty fresh and nice looking roll of parchment towards Jared, smiling. Even without unfolding it one could already see an overly large and nice signature on what appeared to be the top page of a document spanning several pages. Still a bit hesitantly, Jared undid the rope holding the pieces together.

"On the second page you'll find the price listing, scope of delivery and so on... We can still discuss about the price, of course, that's why some parts of the text have been left empty so we can fill them in later. Your final signature goes on page 4." Was there a hint of a grin on Shabby-Clothes' face ?

As Jared unfolded the document, he could indeed see a large amount of written words on pages two and three to be followed by a blank page number four. Knowing that this whole thing could not really be about a real contract about some large amount of Goldroots, he didn't really care much about the numbers. He read it out of interest, hoping to find some clues about what this really was intended to be about. Some minutes passed with Shabby-Clothes watching patiently, then Jared pretended to have come to a conclusion:

"That, erm... sounds all nice. I do have to talk to some people though before signing this. Can I take this with me ?" he asked.

"Of course you can! And please make to point out the watermark to your bosses. I want to make sure that your people know I'm an honorable and serious business partner."

Jared arched an eyebrow, then lifted the parchment to hold it against the light of a candle which happened to stand on the table they sat on. There indeed were some weak lines behind those made out of ink. It was impossible to see them when one didn't knew they were there or just was lucky enough to look at the right places in the right lighting conditions. Yet it was obvious they did not represent some kind of a well-known merchant's seal like the decorated insignia on the first page, but something else...

----

A few hours later, Jared found himself knocking against the same piece of metal as Cherry. He was a few hours behind her though.