Chapter three

‘Four years ago, we were beaten,’ began the old man as he addressed the crowd before him, ‘our homes were lost, our wives stolen, our children’s heads thrown at the walls as they came crashing down.
‘Now we are a notable force: one that simply cannot be ignored. We began with a number of five men; now we are in the hundreds! People in the Breelands, in the lands to the South, the North... we are a people.’

The world darkened and the trees became silver silhouettes in the snow. There was nothing, save a single blue flame in the middle of the field; no people were there, no animals. Nothing but the remnants of long-dead trees and snow was present.
‘You know of his suffering,’ a voice spoke from the world, the very earth beneath him, ‘yet you continue to cause him pain?

‘You know why you are here, Greyleaf,’ said the leader of the three other men, his voice cold and terrifying, though it carried a strange unwelcomed warmth, ‘tell us the names of those you have been speaking to so boldly.’

He stood up, then, after deeming the conversation with the sad man at the bench completely useless. Turning, he made for the backrooms, he never knew exactly what time it was, but before knowledge of the reality around him returned, he found himself waking up, atop 'his' bed -It should be noted that, ofcourse, the bed wasn't at all his, but rather a rented bed within a rented room, within the rented accommodation of the tavern.

The young man leaves Archet, journeying to Bree-town.  He has spent five years in that town, looking for clues which may point him on the right path.  All travelers in that area of the world pass through Bree-town.  'tis an infamous town because of it.   The people who pass through are not all of the sort you would sup with, and the young man knows this.