A soft bed of straw. One of the stalks softly tickled under Clive's nose. The Breelander waves his hand in the general direction of the annoying feeling below his nostrils. It was almost getting light already and the previous night in the Prancing Pony was the end of the man's last funds. Clive felt the pouch around his belt, feeling the cold copper against his fingers. The man thought for a moment, moving his shoulders a bit to lay more comfortable. The man started to mutter some options:''Could become a sellsword..'' Clive chuckled a bit after saying that to himself, continuing with his verbal thinking:''Maybe do another job for the Blackwolds. Riding a cart and getting paid in gold for it suits me.'' Clive almost made the move to stand up but a shadow was casted over him. Clive spoke out against the figure before him: ''Why are you always there when I have a need for you? Are you some kind of personal guardian?'' The figure only looked out over Clive, his mustache curled up as the man gave a snarl. ''I do have a task for you, yes. You will be rewarded. More than you could ever spend, in fact.''
It was still early in the morning when the guard of the South-guard Ruins saw a horsed figure arriving from the North. The half-orcs already had their bows at the ready, expecting a quick kill and some loot. They were surprised when the figure knocked at a nearby tree not far from the road. Most guards at fortifications visited by the old man were thought to recognize certain signs to distinguish friend from foe. This was the sign for the South-guard ruin. The man approached the closed gate a few moments later. One of the bowman spoke: ''What is your business here, friend of Sharkey?'' The rider spoke in a thick Breeland accent when he addressed the half-orc: ''I bring news from our leader.'' The bowman looked at the man before the gate with something that could be called renewed interest: ''Well, what kind of news?'' The man began to spoke again: ''News of a traitor under the blackwolds, as well as a change of some hiding names thanks to this traitor.'' The half-orc looked down upon the man, giving the signal to some other to open the gate. The archer almost turned around to help with the gate before he was halted by the voice of the Breelander: ''I also require two of your most skilled fighters. We have a little raid planned for the day on an unexpected friend.'' The half-orc cackled loudly before continuing his walk down the palisade. Blood will be spilled that day.
