September 26 8 am
Angrinion waits in the dining area, relaxed. He smokes his odd-smelling tobacco in his clay pipe, and drinks his wine. He chats with the waitresses and other customers as though he hasn't a care in the world. Once the group has assembled, he says. "Well, we musen't keep the counsel waiting. Not for too long anyway." he winks.
Angrinion leads you through the dusty streets of the small town. It seems to be a prosperous. It has a Mediterranean climate & is settled largely by Greeks. Greek is the only language spoken by most of the inhabitants. It has plantations of Olive trees, grape arbors, cherry & date orchards, wheat fields, fishing boats, goats, chickens & pigs. Angrinion points out a the smithy, and a traders shop, where you could purchase weapons and provisions. On the Eastern edge of town is an imposing stone tower. ‘Here lives Rufus and Burne, our mayor and his advisor. Rufus is a doughty warrior, and Burne a wizard of the Many-Starred Cloak. Just between you and me, they’re getting a little up in years, and no one thinks they’re up to combating this new menace. They may be helpful to you, though, particularly Burne, if you have needs of any magics. Not that Master Ehldannis needs any help, I’m sure.”
You are led up some stairs, and through a sturdy oak door. Two grim-faced guards glower at you as you pass. Past the door, a short hallway leads directly to a circular room with a round table in the middle. Here sits the leaders of Sevastopol, breakfasting on grapes, cherries, tea, bread and honey.
With a short bow, Angrinion handles the introductions. “My lords and ladies, here are the saviors of Sevastopol.” He introduces each of you by name. “And may I introduce you to the leaders of our industrious settlement. This is Rufus, “ he says, indicating a middle-aged man, who’s chainmail doesn’t quite conceal his paunch.
Burne is tall and thin, wearing a dark cloak sprinkled with tiny bright stars. The cloak is so black, the wrinkles and folds are invisible. He seems old, with watery eyes and white hair.
Tula Papandreou, a merchant and captain of the militia, is tall and dark, wearing a weatherstained cloak over her mail. She is attractive, in a savage sort of way, and appears to be in her mid-30s.
Y’dress is also there, wearing the green robes of a priest of Diana. She seems well-rested and content. Captain Tolstoy rounds out the group. They seem tense, and uncomfortable, as though they haven't been sleeping well. They all manage a smile at the introduction. “Please sit, says Rufus. There is a chair for each of you." Angrinion bows and exits as he came.
“I believe Vladimir and Y’dress have described the situation” says Rufus politely. “We are very grateful for your presence. Is it true that you are the ones summoned by Diana to save our town?”