[center][h2]Jared Morvayn[/h2][/center] 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 [i]her[/i] 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 [i]some[/i] of his relatives. Which implied that [i]some[/i] 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!