Its quiet in the hamlet, as the silky smooth night embraces the city. A guard crosses the street, hugging his crossbow, as he peers out into the looming night for trouble. He looks down briefly to see the bell still strapped to his waist, just checking he thinks, and wonders if it is all worth being a guard in these times. He walks over to the small wooden gate, not made to withstand an attack on the city, but rather to keep the wolves out, and nods to the single other person outside at this time, also cradling a crossbow, he barely moves with the reply, eyes focussed into the night. They look at each other as they hear the trembling of horse hoofs further up the road, the guard readies his crossbow, liking the heavy feel of the polished wood against his shoulder, and pleased he can only hear one pair of hoofs, most likely not robbers then. As they see the outline of the horse, the leutenant shouts out a warning, and the unwanted traveler atop a huge steaming horse stops. The guard looks fearfully at his leutenant, wondering who this is, but then the silence is broken with a single sentence, "In the name of Sarenrae let me pass, i am only here to spend the night". The horse veers its head and takes a couple of steps into the torchlight, letting the guards see past the hooded cape drawn tight to the figures body and into fiery eyes. The guards eyes takes in the newcomer, noticing the hair sprawled down to his shoulders lighting with that unearthly glow of the Ifrits, the heavyset features of the face, to the studded leather armor looking well worn and the two knives sheathes across his chest. Not until the guard notices a silver symbol of the pathfinder society does he finally breathe again, then opening the worn down gate, silently thanking his God that the stranger wasn't some criminal, yes definitely too dangerous a job to be a guard he thinks.
The horse moves slowly through the streets of the city towards the sound of laughter and drinking, the Ifrit clearly guiding it towards the closest In. A few minutes later the door to the In opens, and as the stranger walks in most of the voices lower and heads turn, taking in the stranger, evaluating his walk and weapons, if he could be trouble. As the stranger reaches the bar, he leans in over it and a few inaudible words is exchanged and a mug of warm ale is handed to him before the stranger heads for the corner, and the bar once again returns to its normal atmosphere.
A little after the second bell rang that night, when most of the patrons had either passed out in their own vomit after the cheap ale, or had left trying to find a warm bed and maybe some company, four men walked into the In smelling of trouble. The first one through the door, clearly the leader of the group based on the way he behaved, and dressed in fancy robes and jewelry, slandered drunkenly towards the fireplace and the large table in front of it. The few locals that were still there, and that were sober enough to move, hurried out of the In just as the guys started shouting after ale. Barely minutes went by before the young barmaid stumbles towards their table with a tray carrying four huge jugs, which she hurriedly places down in front of the men, while trying to look anywhere but right at them. She even almost succeeds, but just as she places the final mug on the table a quick hand traps her wrist, and pulls her down in the lap of the rich looking guy, while barely a yelp escapes her. The barmaid keeps struggling to get free, but the combination of the four guys that has simply had too much to drink, and the power trip they are on is simply too much, she can't get away. Then the old barkeep runs into the room waving a club, yelling in a hoarse voice for them to get their hands off of his daughter, while he walks on shaky legs towards the four men. Only as he reaches the table does the stranger realize what is happening, he bolts up from his chair hearing it crash against the floor, but too late, one of the men has already drawn a knife, slicing a thick gash in the barkeeps throat as the barmaid screams out. The stranger seems to go into a trance then, dancing weaving like a predator towards the group, his kukri knives sliding through the air in a deadly pattern cutting down two of the four guys before they even finish drawing their weapons. The third one goes down as the leader throws the barmaid onto the floor and draws his sword, looking drunkenly with a surprised look at the stranger, just as he feels two knives enter his chest and and blood flowing into his lungs.
What happened next all happened in a blur. The barmaid crying over her dad tells the stranger, that it was the Jarls nephew, he couldn't just killed, run, it was the only option. Three weeks later, the same stranger arrives in an In in Sandpoint, his clothes looking even more worn than just three weeks earlier, the only notable difference is that he is no longer wearing the pathfinder emblem, he approaches the barkeep and says "Sir, my name is Tulian and i am looking for a job".
That icy night in the small hamlet, now over three years ago, still keeps Tulian awake at night, the ease at which he cut those people down scaring him. Now making him realize the power that a single man can wield, and promising to wield it for the greater good, maybe that was the reason he stayed in Sandpoint this long, waiting for a time when Sarenrae would once again be in need of assistance, maybe he just liked the quiet life.
