Your vices are in order

[Les Misérables]

Underwood's town hall had once been a warehouse, by the shape of the the boxlike wooden walled rooms. Benjamin Aldebrand, Mayor of thirty years, stood on a small brown and green painted platform affixed with a wide podium. Aldebrand's cheeks and forehead were pale, his eyes crinkled and reddened reflecting the wee hours of the morning.

The mayor licked his lips as he addressed the members of Town Council, a round dozen men and women, all of whom had been permanent residents in Underwood for at least forty years. Grey showed through in all their hair, except those vain enough to use herbal dyes, and Ormeath Zhainguinth who was as bald as a riverstone. They sat on cushioned seats behind stout desks, some shuffling parchment, some sipping tea or spiced wine. A few even had secretaries or assistants in attendance, as if it were an official Council meeting, as if they thought themselves lords and ladies who needed servants.

Well, mayhap we do have a need for lords and ladies at that. Leadership and organisation. Aldebrand thought as he scrubbed a hand through his own thinning grey hair. It was far from a closed council meeting. A group of at least fifty citizens crowded the back of the hall, chatting in clusters or watching in sleepy-eyed silence. Aldebrand clasped capable worker's hands over his respectable politician's paunch and took in a breath. He had spent the past hour discussing the night's violent events with the council members, fielding questions from citizens, and wishing he were back in bed.

"I believe," he said in a tired voice which nonetheless carried to the back corners of the rectangular room, "that he have come to an agreement. Following the murder of Jaliss Evenkeel," a moment of sombre silence followed the deceased elf's name, and even the buzz of whispers from the commoners quieted. After bowing his head for a moment, Aldebrand continued, "we are resolved to employ a new Captain of the Watch immediately. The votes are tallied, and as such I will approach Joshua Breaker Cronen at first light and offer him the position. As to the issues of safety and overpopulation in Underwood, the council will be meet again in--" the Mayor cut off as a barrel-chested dwarf stormed through one of the hall's side doorways, having come from the chamber where Evenkeel's corpse lay, shrouded in linen with his sword at his side.

"May I address the council, Benjamin?" The dwarf's voice was as thunderous as his footfalls as he stepped up on the corner of the stage.

"Of course, Terech, my friend." Aldebrand replied, sidestepping to make room for the dwarf behind the podium. Since standing behind it would have concealed most of his thick body and shaggy beard, Terech Bodorson opted instead to remain at the edge of the stage. An unshielded brazier full of perfumed coals blazed just beside him, throwing flickering light across his craggy, hardened features and causing perspiration to seep from the deep lines on his forehead. Wiping the sweat away with one sleeve of his brown cloak, the dwarf cleared his throat.

"Fellow citizens of Underwood... I feel doubly responsible for the death of my close friend, and for the those wounded and killed among your loved ones. Firstly because I was teaching lessons in the forest when I should have been helping Jaliss fight the assassin, and secondly because I have not stepped in sooner to correct the development of this town into a city."

Bodorson held up both wide palms to quell the wave of murmurs and turning heads which washed from the back to the front of the room. As the men and women in attendance quieted down he curled one hand into a fist the size of a hammerhead and crashed it into his opposite palm.

"We are a part of a nation divided, a nation at war with itself. Thus far we have been content to shelter refugees, feed the hungry and cure the ill, and let the Rangers protect us from the forces of the Empire. But this cannot last! In these times of conflict I hope you will listen to my counsel. I have seen many wars, fought many battles, and I know that before we can have peace in Concordia and all of Corone, we must defeat the oppressors, not hide from them!"

This time the murmurs were louder and more positive, the gleam of action replacing the sleepy glaze in the eyes of many.

"I propose," the head of Ravenheart Academy said, pressing his callused hands together before him, "that you leave the task of appointing a new Captain of the Watch to me. I will find someone who can not only recruit and train more warriors, but who can turn the Watch into a proper fighting force, and army of our own to support the Rangers."

The tinkling of quills dipped rapidly in inkwells and the scratch of nubs over parchment swelled beneath the excited murmurs as secretaries notated what their employers whispered. One member of the council, a woman with a long grey braid wrapped over her shoulder and clutched between both hands, stood up suddenly.

"But if the Watch becomes an army, who will protect our homes by night? The dark assassin could return, and theft is on the rise with the population." Terech Bodorson nodded to her appreciatively and she sat down. He had anticipated the concern, but rather than attempt to explain to the civilians how the presence of a military force could clean up crime in a city on its own, he had something prepared to satiate their worries.

"That is why," he said kindly, losing some of the harshness in his voice, "I also propose we name Joshua Cronen Sheriff and Guardian of Underwood, providing of course that he accepts the position."

The murmurs were quiet and scattered this time, as one by one all twelve of the council members stood and voiced their support of the proposal. Finally the floor fell back to Mayor Aldebrand, who had been near to dozing while leaning against the heavy podium.

Terech stepped off the platform and nodded politely to those he knew, offering brief condolences to any who had lost family as short, stout legs carried him to the back corner of the room. Leaning against the wall in a pool of shadows next to the exit was a silver-haired drow. He was sickly gaunt and had only one arm, bu the eyes of an officer, icy blue eyes that had seen as much death as the winter sky. The barrel of a short musket peered over the drow's shoulder, the long gun lashed to that wasted torso by a heavy canvas strap.

"You speak common?" Terech asked the drow in Aleraran, and got a nod in response.

"My name is Phyr Sa'resh," the old elf said in an immaculate accent, and extended his single arm for an awkward handshake.

"Terech Bodorson, Master of the Ravenheart Academy," the dwarf said, and gestured to the outdoors, where a faint glow of morning had appeared over the tops of Concordia's tallest trees. "Walk with me, Master Sa'resh. I have a proposal for you."