It was at the end of the third age of the dragon, During king Regal's rule, That the Hurminors decided that the rich and lush land of Averol was theirs for conquest. The Hurminors lead the charge into Averol from the east, Their well trained army and hunger for blood lead them straight to the gates of the capitolium, nothing being able to stand in their way until the massive walls of the capitolium rose above them. Yet this had only stopped them for days, maybe weeks at the most and king Regal and his council was hard pressed to find a solution to these savages that had entered their lands. Common diplomacy had failed, since the Hurminors had flung the messagers lifeless body at the city wall. What remaind of the army was nothing more then the royal guard and the city garrison. The once proud and great army of Averol had been beaten at the border already, and was nothing more the crow feed at the time being. The inhabitants of the Capitolium waited with fear as days went past and not a single word came from the king or his council. Around the rest of the country the villages were left to fend for themself, hiring mercenaries and others to protect their villages from the Hurminors. Those that could not afford were left like a wounded sheep, being surrounded by a pack of hungry wolves. It was also during this troubeling time, that a new tale was about to take place, one that would be shared between campfires and courts alike, one that would inspire man and woman alike. The sun was slowly passing down over the horizont, leaving place for the moon to once again shine bright. Yet in the village of Brakfort, There were many eyes that watched the red skies and muttered about bad omens. Even if the small village had been spared the onslaught of the Hurminors so far, no one knew for how much longer that would last. Yet as the moon slowly decended towards its throne in the sky, There were still some hope in the village, The local tavern was open and the warmth,cheerful voices and light would invite the most weary of souls. It was to this village and to this particular tavern that a wandered arrived. He was silent when he walked into the tavern, careful not to break the cheerful partying that was happening inside. He wore a blue, thick cloak that flowed behind him. The emblem on his chest were something none of the patrons had seen before. He walked forth to the tavern owner and pulled down his hood, revealing his plain face, which had a friendly smile to it. "Greetings sir, How much for a room ?" The wandered asked as he placed down the heavy towershield on the floor beside him. The tavern owner, a fat man who knew how to brew his beer and with that arms of a giant, looked him over for a few moments and then held out his massive hand. "Five silver for a room, six if you want something to eat with that." He said towards the stranger, eyeing him up and down. "Let's make that seven, and i can get a mug of water with that meal." The blue cloaked man said and placed seven silver coins in the owners hand, He then bowed his head slightly and went to find a seat. The owner nodded and muttered something under his breath, then turned around and walked into the kitchen. "Mind if i sit here, my good sir ?" The cloaked man asked a old man that was sitting alone near the fireplace. The grey haired man just shook his head and motioned at the seat. "Sit lad." And said and done so did the wanderer. He sat down at the table and looked around the tavern. The tavern was pretty crowded tonight and he doubted that he was the first traveler to be arriving here for the night, but then again, he wasn't the last either. (( Alright, So i was hoping that we could start a little story here and that atleast someone would like to join in and write. There isn't much to say about the story, We'll see where we end up once we start writing ))

The shining moon above offered little protection from the bitter evening winds. The boy moved through the shadows and starlight with the kind of weary determination found among those who had spent most of their life in toil and labor. His features were obscured by the long, heavy woolen cloak. Only his wiry arm and thin fingers betrayed any of his features as they clutched a simple quarterstaff. The boy looked up as the village finally came into view. It was little more than a collection of shops and craftsmen who sold their wares to nearby farmers and passing travelers, but it was where the boy had been told to go. Where he had been told to bring the sword, or what remained of it. The sight of the village nestled in the valley gave the boy a new strength and he pushed himself onward. Eventually he caught the tangy scent of mutton, pipe smoke and ale over the normal city scents of dung and filth. He followed his nose and pushed the door open, releaved that he had finally reached his destination. Here he would find the old man. Here he would find answers. He stepped onto the plank floor of the crowded inn and drew back his hood. His face was gaunt, with deeply set brown eyes and a matching tangle of hair framing his angular features. Though his frame and features marked him as a boy about to cross the threshold of manhood, his eyes betrayed a deeper truth - an experience that had aged him beyond his years. He had a simple leather sack over one shoulder and wore the clothes of a peasant - woolen cloth cut into vaguely human shapes and cinched together at his waist. He leaned upon his walking staff and tried to look through the heavy crowd for the old man. He had to be here, or everything the boy had sacrificed was lost.