Chapter 1 - The Scouring of Gate Pass
Chapter 1: The Scouring of Gate Pass
The air is brisk and your breath escapes your mouth in thick clouds of mist as you hustle down the slush-filled streets and alleys of Gate Pass.
On any other New Year’s Eve it would be impossible to move so quickly, for the streets would be clogged with citizens preparing to begin celebrating the Festival of Dreams. Taverns would be filled to the brim, their courtyards filled with drunken revelers, performers and frantic bar maids. Banners, streamers and other decorations would clothe the many buildings and roof bridges, and the clanging of temple bells would be intermittently heard amid a cacophony of laughter and music.
Tonight however, an army marches from Ragesia to lay siege to Gate Pass. An army commanded by a scourge of Inquisitors who signal ill intent for magic users. Thus, tonight it is quiet. The streets lay empty, filled only with dark shuttered windows, locked doors and snow. Occasionally you spot members of the City Watch who warm their hands over braziers and stare at you over their shoulders as you pass through district gates.
You were told to go to the Poison Apple Pub just before midnight to meet a Resistance member by the name of Torrent. Your contact was thin on the details, but you believe that this mission may give you an opportunity to escape the city.
You stop for a moment to check your gear again, content in the snugness of taught belt straps, heavy weapon sheathes and full packs. Your heart pounds and lungs slightly burn from your hurried travel. You’re sure that the 11th bell of the evening rang out some time ago. It must be midnight soon.
When you are about a mile from the Western Gate of the city, amid the homes and shops of poorer residents, you finally reach your destination. The Poison Apple Pub stands before you, its sign squeakily swaying in the night breeze. The pub is a two-story wooden building attached by a rooftop bridge to a neighboring house. The door and windows are boarded up, and the curtains drawn. Nailed to the front door is a large notice.
After surveying the building and catching your breath, you step out of an alley or street to approach the pub and realize that you are not alone. Others have also journeyed here this evening, equally as winded and cautious as you. You take a moment to regard one another:
A tall elf with black hair and chiseled features bundles up his winter cloak and clutches an ornate wooden bow.
A human warrior in chainmail fingers the hilt of his bastard sword and grips a giant wooden tower shield.
A stout bald dwarf with a braided beard stands warm against the winter chill in armor made from the hide of bears.
Another human warrior clad in chainmail, with the thick arms of a blacksmith, leans on a long finely made glaive.
A second older-looking elf, with long grey hair and clad in a dramatic cape, grins widely.
Yet another human, smaller in form than the others, stands amid the shadows in leather armor and a short spear rises up above his hooded head.
At this distance you can now make out the notice on the door which reads:
“Trehan Finner, owner of the Poison Apple Pub, has been taken into temporary custody under the protection of the city guard, until such time that he can be questioned by representatives of the Ragesian Empire, and found innocent of hostile collusion. The Poison Apple Pub is hereby closed until further notice.”
