You stand in the bustle of Ravenwood, a large trading town with walls of stone and lively locals. The sun beats down warmly as you pace the town's cobbled streets; each of you are here for different reasons, yet perhaps not so different after all.
Two dwarves, weary from travelling, search for a tavern to rest their weary legs. One carries a plethora of axes and armaments, and each guard he passes he sets on edge. His companion, taller by and inch, walks alongside his fellow. Although less armed, he bears an air of experience about him that only years can tell.
From the shade of a stall's eave a man watches the scene before him. Unnoticed just outside the throng, he searches, but for what is his to know. This man is used to being invisible; so used to it, in fact, that he can blend into the shadows without a second thought.
Brother, I believe I may just have seen some treachery from someone leaving. Could you cover me from a distance? I'm going to try and follow him unassumingly and see what there may be to this.
The hustle and bustle of the streets is intoxicating and my mind gets caught up in the countless moving bodies.
