The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, skeletal shadows across the grimy, nameless town nestled beside the city of Derrell. As decent folk scurried into their homes, the true inhabitants emerged: cut-throats, slavers, and worse, claiming the streets for their nightly games.

Two cloaked figures on bay horses, Sigwulf and Vance, rode out of the encroaching forest, their destination this repugnant little den of vice. Night had fully settled, the full moon illuminating the disused track ahead. They were tired, but not unwary, their heavy cloaks concealing the gleam of chainmail and the weight of cavalry swords.