The auspices were strange the night before. A vacant wood stood still and calm in the darkness, with many overhanging branches blotting out the sickly-pale moonlight that dripped in. And beneath it all, hidden in the crawl spaces and bushes, were yellow eyes alight in hunger and waiting. Strange beasts crawled out from their caverns, roaming the wood with impunity and sniffing about for prey. They stood on four legs as wolves, but there was something human to them; they possessed a greed known only man. They hunted deer more for sport than for food, and when a lone village girl entered, Morus had to force himself awake to avoid the gruesome sight of their bounty.

Dreams led him, and he followed without question.

The boy knew well what waited for him within the forests, and took it upon himself to seek out the lone survivor of a bandit raid. She was hesitant of him at first, as many people were when a boy his age offered his services. Barefoot and with threadbare clothes, he didn't look much the part of an adventurer. His recounting of his dream did little to avail her worries either, as she looked upon he with a concern one saves for conversations with mad beggars. But a demonstration of his power, by breaking a thin tree with the push of his hand, finally allowed her to give him the information he sought. She promised riches in whatever treasure he could recover, but gold was a light snack compared to the full meal that justice offered. He told her he'd have the bandits brought to heel and bring them to the full might of the law, but something in her ragged eyes made it clear that the law wasn't her goal. There was an ember there still, that smoldered and burned, a rage that required blood for blood. He shook the feeling off, and made his way to the meeting point she described where others had promised to aid.

And that was how he found himself in a small tavern by some lonesome road near Stonevale, just beyond the woods. Though tiny by comparison to any city watering hole, it was rather lively with travelers from all necks of the country. Two elves stood solemn nearby, refusing a table that looked as if it hadn't been cleaned in ages. A dwarf regaled a small crowd in his exploits of finding a massive vein of gold deep within the reaches of the Alerar. And so the boy took a seat, right in front of the bar, on a massive stool. He kept his knees close to his chest and curled his toes just over the edge of it, as he found such tall seats had the indignity of making his feet dangle without touching the floor. Morus took a few gold pieces from his pouch, and slid them on the bar. Ignored at first, he remained undeterred as he tapped them against the aged oak until a barwoman finally came to him.

“What do you want, youngin',” she said, with a sour surly expression on her face. Age had not been kind to her, and in fact might have been the abuser in their relationship.

“Mead, if you have it. Ale if you do not.”

“Wouldn't you prefer water, considering.” She studied him up and down. It was a problem the boy encountered at many a bar, so much so that it didn't really bother him much any more.

“Madam,” he began, so politely that it bordered on condescending, “I wouldn't trust the water here if I saw it blessed by the Thaynes themselves.” He slid one more gold piece from his pouch, and that finally encouraged her to pour him a drink in a tankard so large it took two of his small hands to hold it. He went at it without grace, though found the mead inside to be a bit more sour than his liking. The truth of it was, life on the streets had taught him water was safe at best half the time, and the other half left many a naive young urchin curled up in the outhouses if they were lucky enough to live.

“What brings you around here?” Her voice was at least more pleasant than her face.

“I am on the lookout for a few other of the mercenary sort, tasked with a quest I've given my word to complete. You wouldn't happen to be privy to any, would you?” He asked in earnest, but the smirk she shot back was enough to tell him how foolish he sounded. All around them were seedy men with sullen looks on their faces, cloaks with hoods drawn up and swords at their belts. And each one, strange as it seemed, sat in a different dimly lit corner of the bar, counting gold or honing their blade. “Yes, well,” he stammered a bit, trying to regain some gravitas to his voice. “If any happen to be here looking to rid a small town nearby of bandits, I'd like to meet them.”