| “Sister Tresa, Sister Tresa! Have you heard? The orcs is comin’; the orcs is comin’. Old Hermund at the market says they gonna gobble us up. They gonna…” Whatever else the small boy was going to say was lost as he burst into exhausted tears. He hobbled up to Tresa, his home made crutch clattering over the rubbish strewn cobbles to the steps where the priestess sat bathing her feet.
Tresa hung her head and, with a damp hand, brushed back a wayward tress of hair that had escaped from one of her buns. After a moment to gather her wits she looked up and smiled widely at the urchin before her. “Now, now! Gareth, don’t be afraid. Come here and sit beside me and tell me what that old blowhard has been saying.
As the boy sat, Tresa emptied out the pottery basin in which she had been washing her feet and turned to listen to his story. She did not believe his story for one moment but she would do what she could to reassure the child.
It was an hour later when she heard the news again, this time from Henry the poleaxeman at the abattoir. He came with his usual basket of poor quality meat, bones and offal for the needy at the temple. It was his way of atoning for a life of killing in the mercenary company to which they had both belonged. He gave food to the poor of Nine Bells, she attended to their wounds and to their illnesses.
“Aye! ‘Tis true! The greenskins have found someone to lead them. Someone with a bit more intelligence than normal. ‘Tis said there are thousands of orcs and goblins and other fell beasts heading for us even as we speak. Did ye not hear Captain Durkik’s call to arms? He were drawn through town on a cart asking for all able-bodied folk to step up an’ be counted.”
Tresa laughed a weary laugh “Look about you, Henry. This is Nine Bells. Where are the able-bodied here? No-one lives here who can find a place elsewhere.”
She suddenly took in the tone of Henry’s voice and looked up keenly at her old friend. “You’re going to sign up, aren’t you? But what about your oath? You swore not to kill again.”
Henry hung his head and looked sheepish. “Aye, I will be joining the militia. I went to see Father John at the Temple of Kord and he absolved me of my oath. He said that fighting to protect the defenceless is a worthy reason and is not the same as fighting for gold.”
He stared down into Tresa’s homely face. His eyes wandered over her lined features, her greying hair. Even for a dwarf she seemed old before her time. “And so, Tresa. What about you? Will you join also?” | 
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