By the standards of the kingdom, Havrever is a small town, barely a footnote on the map. Here on the island of Akena, however, it stands tall as one of a few hubs of trade and commerce in the dutchy. Still dwarfed by the city of Edgemond to the North, Havrever has none the less made a name for itself. Using the river that bisects the town as a vast road inland the people of Havrever cultivate large fields of crop, and host a number of forest camps for lumber and hunting. Large boats also make the passage downstream, where they fish the river and nearby coast. Riverboats carry these products back to town, where they are processed, used, or exported to Edgemond or across the sea.

A large keep is the main landmark of town, sat atop the river, the locals use it to bisect the town. North of the keep is where the merchants meet, guild halls form, and the products of the river are brought for sale and storage. South of it is the fisherman's quarter, where larger ships make port, bringing in the bounty of the seas. To the east and west of these two districts, people build their homes, and in this way the town grows alongside the river, long and slim. Nearby, some make a living farming the land, a network of roads stretching out a day's journey.

The sun is bright and cool on this day, the most subtle of warnings that Fall nears. Far too busy to notice, Henry Hagenaur follows a frightened, and tired looking woman out of his office. A deputy escorts her from the building, murmuring reassurances as Sheriff Hagenaur turns to another. "Simms. Please, would you make your way to the temple? Have them ring the bell, summon the people." With a simple 'Sir!' the deputy rushes off. The Sheriff steels himself, and follows after at a slower pace. The temple bells are already ringing by the time he arrives, and a small gathering is beginning to form. He waits a few minutes more, discussing with his deputy and the temple priest. However, it is not long before he is standing at the landing in front of the door. Turning to the crowd he begins to explain why he had gathered them here, and what had frightened that poor woman so...

A shaggy-haired halfling stretches, yawns, and then splashes his face with water from a trough near the temple as he notices the commotion.  He hadn't been here long, so he knew no one, and no one knew him, which meant he had been left alone.  His shirt was open at the collar, sleeves rolled up a considerable length, and his brown trousers were hoisted in a similar fashion, being much too long for his body.  The look was mildly comical, which meant when he had been noticed, it wasn't for suspicious reasons.

Watching the crowd gather, he picks up a backpack at his feet, and wanders over on hairy feet to see what passes for entertainment round these parts.

Inside on of the local taverns, Jamem was preforming for the promise of some coin. If he was going to be an adventurer, he needed some more money to start with. Being close to his hometown, Havrever was a perfect first stop for the aspiring suitor. As the bells rung, the bard didn't think much of it, but when people started to clear out of the tavern, he knew something important must have been going on. Jamem strapped the lute to his back, and walked out with the crowd, seeing them walking to the temple, and hearing faint noises of the man starting to explain to the crowd what had them summoned. He trudged his way through several people, with  'pardon me' and 'sorry' coming out of his mouth abundantly, until he could hear the Sherriff's communication with the towns people. 

The Half-Orc looks up from his work at the sound of the bells, a small mallet poised and ready to strike. 'Whatever could that be about?' Tanglar thinks to himself. "Nibs, go show me the church please." Focusing once more on his work, the small mallet falls tapping the back of the punch. Not too hard, as to drive through the leather, but not too soft either or the impression will be too shallow. Lifting the punch the Half-Orc smiles as he looks down on the final bit of the lattice around the outside edge of the manuscript at his work station. Setting aside the mallet and the punch, Tanglar grasps the edge of his work station to steady himself as he follows the arcane tether that connects him to his Raven Familiar.

One moment his vision is of his work station, the next he's looking down at a crowd gathered around the church to hear what Sheriff Hagenaur has to say. Now blind to his surroundings, the book binder carefully slides his mallet and punch back into the leather roll where he keeps all of his other tools by feel alone. No easy task, but the slight green skinned fellow's motions are quick and sure, a task practiced a thousand times before. "Quill, please put away my kit. My attention will be elsewhere for the next few minutes." To the untrained eye, the unfurled leather tool kit would seem to roll itself up. It's leather thongs tie themselves into a neat bow, and the whole thing carefully stowed away in the nearby backpack at the side of the work station. To anybody aware of the weave, the Unseen Servant would be the obvious answer. "When you're done that, please lead me to the church." The Half-Orc extends his elbow, waiting for the formless servant to show him the way.

Anyone watching from the crowd would see a young Half-Orc in red toned common clothing, styled like a scribe or scholar. He walks slowly, his black eyes unfocused as if her were blind. One fang is snapped off half way, giving him a bit of a lop sided look. He has a ring through his left nostril, and another similar one in his left ear. His arms are branded with tribal tattoos, though his body looks thin and weak. Nothing like the brutish green skins most people are used to seeing. He wears a satchel on the right side of his belt, offset by a dagger on the left side. He holds up a hand in a stop motion, right in the middle of three small groups of people, then he himself stops. Anyone close enough can hear him say, "Thank you Quill. You're dismissed until next time." Though nobody is standing with him.

Phevari Ralmeros's feet are carrying her towards the temple before she even realises it, the sound of the bells reminiscent enough of Assembly that her body reacts, horn to toe, without bothering to inform her brain.

Catching herself, Phevari – just Phevari now, not Sergeant Ralmeros, not any more – considers turning back, but then, it's not like she had any pressing business to attend to. Or any business at all, save loitering in the fisherman's quarter hoping to exchange a few hours' labour for fewer coins, only to spend those drinking away the evening. And the memories.

Well, perhaps whatever was happening at the temple would be interesting enough to pass a little time, and maybe offer a chance for a few coins of its own. Briefly, with the efficiency of a lifelong soldier, she takes stock of herself. Her warhammer is securely belted to her waist; her shield to her back. Her chain armour hasn't been polished for far too long, but she'd been to the river and cleaned off the muck from the alley where she passed out last night, and it would pass a casual inspection. Her rank insignia and squad emblem are proudly pinned to her shoulders. Her hair, grey with age now, with only a few hints of the flame red it had once been, is swept back between her horns, where it hangs to the back of her neck, though the sides of it between ear and horn could probably do with a fresh shave. Good enough for civilian life, anyway, she concludes, and resumes walking toward the bells.

     As the bell rings out across the town, Tygven is found fishing off one of the piers in the fishing district. He hasn't done much else during the daylight hours in the few days since he washed up on the shores at the mouth of the river that led him to this tiny town. The dwarf has spent evenings wandering the river's edge exploring strange new abilities that he doesn't remember having before... though things before arriving have been a bit hazy and slowly coming back to him over the days. 

     As the sounds of the last bell fades, the new voice that has been in the the fisherman's head comes him again: Let's see what all the commotion is about. The dwarf doesn't really think to question the suggestion - it has been helpful in exploring his new powers after all, and he packs up his belongings to head towards the temple. 

"Good people of Havrever, permit me a moment of your time." The Sheriff begins his address to the crowd. Deputy Simms stands beside him, the lanky, awkward image of not-quite-a soldier. "It is the duty of this office that I maintain the peace and protect you fine folk from those of ill will. However, my deputies are already stretched thin--"

"Is this what it's come to?" Interrupts a heavy-set man in the crowd, stepping up to the front. His dress betrays his job in one of the warehouses nearby, loose and light. "Henry comes down from his mighty throne to call upon us to do his job for him?"

Continuing, Sheriff Hagenauer speaks above the man in a tone that commands attention. "I have received today reports of an attack on one of the farms nearby, half a day's journey. I ask for a number of volunteers to assist me in tracking down these ne'er do wells and disbanding their troupe. Any who join me in this task will be compensated with two days' pay comparable to that of my deputies." With those words, he lets a bound leather bag slip from his grasp and to the ground below. It lands with the heavy thud and muffled clicks of enough coin to keep even the attention of the dissenter from earlier. But, not for long, as he comes to his senses and waves his hand dismissively. With a grunt, the heavy-set worker turns away and returns to his day. A good portion of the crowd follows him.

Phevari has seen more than her fair share of officers who were more than happy to send others into danger, while they sat back and collected the credit. But also, very occasionally, ones who were genuinely trying to delegate too much work, with too few resources, as best they could. She studies this sheriff, trying to gauge whether the worker is correct that he belongs to the former group.

Insight: 6

Tanglar dismisses the oaf from the warehouses out of hand, ‘Did he not hear the sheriff’s explanation?’  He thinks to himself before sending new instructions to Nibs. Nibs Then alights from his perch and quickly flies to a tree that is closer to the scene unfolding before him.

Tanglar nods and begins to carefully walk forward, his progress is slow but he takes any chance he can to practice using his familiar’s sight instead of his own. Stopping close enough to be heard without shouting, Tanglar says, “Thank you for the invitation. I apologize that I’m not much for a fight, but I have other abilities that might help. I also have some follow up questions if you will permit me.”

While he’s talking he draws his senses back down the arcane tether to his own body. ‘Thank you as always Nibs.’ he sends through their bond. It has been his experience that people find it off putting to speak to him when his eyes don’t focus correctly. Truth be told when he experimented face to face with his familiar, he too found it unsettling.

The halfling listens to the grumbles of the crowd around him as he slips between bodies to get a better look at this ‘Henry’ fellow.  He watches the drop of the pouch with great interest, and concludes that this place might not be so sleepy after all, if the people in charge have to call on random people to get things done.

Mentally filing this information for later use, he slips round the side of the landing and leans against the wall of the temple, getting a better view of proceedings, and waiting to see if anyone would bite.

As the crowd would turn away and walk back, Jamem fought through them to start approaching the sheriff. The man was dressed in gear that resembles that of some sort of adventurer on a budget, and he had a determined look on his face, paired with a courteous smile. "Greetings Sherriff, maybe my services could also be of use to you". On the inside, the bard was frantic, because this could be his big break and his first step towards his beloved. 

"I may not have experience in this area yet, but I'm assuming you just need anyone and everyone you can have on this assignment". 

     A dwarf dressed in a drab-green smock and blue cloak steps forward. The various fishing gear that he carries rattles as he pushes through the crowd. He plants the butt end of the spear that he holds in and puffs up his chest, a cerulean orb peaks out from under the locks of his beard. The weather-beaten face looks sternly up the Sherriff. "I can find things in the water easy enough. Not sure of my skills on land, but suppose I could give you a hand."  He looks to his side and gives a nod to the others that have spoken up.

Rumor around town paints a grim picture of the Sheriff's abilities, or rather, those of his office. It is no secret that many people now turn to Lord Allister's personal guard when they need assistance from the law. However, try as she might, Phevari cannot seem to get a good grasp on the half-elven man, whose practiced stone face betrays nothing. A smile does crack, however, when the first volunteer steps up. "Thank you." He speaks to the half-orc, gesturing towards his deputy. "Come on up. If you'll speak with Deputy Simms here, I'm sure he can answer your questions."

Almost as soon as he'd turned his attention back to the now-dwindling crowd did two more volunteers speak up, and he invited them each in turn up to the landing as well, shaking their hands with a firm grasp, and inviting them to speak with his deputy. Deputy Simms is a young man, who carries himself with all the inexperience and enthusiasm that that entails. He tries his best to put on the very same look of authority that Sheriff Hagenauer find so easy, but doesn't quite pull it off. "Alright. Thank you for your assistance, do each of you have a weapon? It doesn't have to be the best, and, gods willing, you won't have to use it."

The crowd ever-dwindles, but a few remain, pondering the question. The Sheriff speaks up once more, trying to urge them into volunteering. "Come now, my good folk. Surely you have, or know someone who has a loved one out in the farms? Or the logging camps? If nothing is done these brigands won't stop. If the promise of good pay doesn't motivate you, then dig deep and take it up for your fellow man." While murmurs spread among the scant few remaining, Henry spots someone he recognizes, and points out into the crowd at Phevari. "You, I know you. Come now, you carry that hammer around all over the town, why don't you put it to good use?"

Jamem nodded as the sheriff sent him off to the deputy, now more ready than ever for this, or so he tells himself internally. The deputy seemed in himself somewhat similar to Jamem, both in attitude and age. The bard reveals under his cape, a dark green one, neither poorly made or particularly well made, lie a thin sheathe, with a handle only big enough for one hand being all that could be seen, identifying the weapon easily as a rapier. "My work with the blade isn't my strong suit however. Hopefully my talent in music will suffice, Deputy". 

In an attempt to prove that he could be of assistance, he takes his Lute off of his back and plays a small tune with it, saying a small hymn that was meant to accompany it. Appearing next to him is a spectral hand, that one who knew of it could easily identify as the Mage Hand cantrip. The hand preformed a small wave, both towards the deputy and the 2 others who were already up there with the deputy, before vanishing as Jamem finished. 

The Half-Orc approaches the sheriff, his gait now sure and quick. As he takes the offered hand, he says, "No, thank you. It takes a strong man to ask for help." He gives the man a small squeeze and a lopsided smile before letting the man's hand go, and turning to his deputy. ""Tanglar, Tanglar Anskuld. I work just down the road at the Quill and Ink." Tanglar waits until the rest of the volunteers arrive before asking his questions. Not wanting the man to have to repeat himself without cause. While waiting, Tanglar draws his dagger, holding it flat along the palm of his hand to show the deputy, "This is the only blade I carry, though I honestly use it more for cutting the shipping twine on my deliveries." As each volunteer arrives Tanglar offers each his hand, "Tanglar, Tanglar Anskuld. A pleasure to meet your acquaintance."

Once gathered Tanglar simply states one question after another, listening to the Deputies responses each time. 

"The Sheriff said the farm was attacked, how many assailants?"

"How were they equipped?"

"What level of violence did they use?"

"What level of violence are we permitted to use?"

Phevari looks momentarily taken aback at the prospect of being recognised. Sure, tieflings are in the minority around here, but not so much that she should be noticed for her tail alone. Maybe she's been making more of a drunken nuisance of herself than she'd realised. And maybe she's been too complacent, and it's time to put aside enough gold to get out of town again. So it's definitely the pouch of coins on her mind, and nothing else, as she steps toward the deputy.

"I've faced far worse than a few miscreants, sir," she informs the deputy, bringing herself to attention but stopping herself, and the last second, from saluting. Instead, she rests her hand meaningfully on her hammer. "I'm sure this will be no difficulty. Of course, any intelligence on what we should expect to find would be valuable."

Out of the corner of her eye, she surveys the rest of the volunteers. She's seen greener recruits – barely more than children, shovelled onto the field with less than the bare minimum of training, during long stretches when Adieno was desperate for spell fodder – but not by much. Still,. the dwarf looks like he's had to take care of himself a time or two, and the one with the lute at least has some small magical talent, so they might yet surprise her…

The halfling weighs up the volunteers as their numbers slowly swell.  Once the tiefling that looks like she could handle herself joins, he figures the reward outweighs the risk to himself, and sidles round to the group.  He approaches, hands stuck deep in his pockets, and kicks a stone aimlessly, while he waits to the side for someone to happen to look down.  "I've got a crossbow...  Pretty good at hitting bottles on a wall, so I'll stay out everyone's way and help where I can."  He affects a humble tone, not wishing to stand out for now.

      "Tygven Silverscar," the dwarf says gruffly, but giving the half-orc a firm handshake.

      Tygven turns to the deputy and gives his spear a shake. "Pointy end goes in anything that gives me trouble," he says with a confident nod. He then sit back as the Tanglar rattles off his questions before adding his own. "What we're these bandits after?"

"A moment, please, Mr. Anskuld." The deputy says, taking in the recruits as the Sheriff fruitlessly tries to convince anyone else from the crowd. Watching the display from Jamem he nods. "That's quite the talent, I'm sure we'll find much use of it. Thank you again, Mister...?" Once he's gotten a name from the musician, he addresses the dwarf with a nod. "Ah- right. We can't say for sure, most likely objects of value, simple things that could be fenced off. It's also possible the master of the farm had a sum of coin for the workers' wages stowed in the area."

Then, he finally turns to answer Tanglar's questions. "Information is scarce. A woman came down the road this morning and said that the farm had been attacked. She was a frightened thing, and her account of the ordeal was, well..." He breaks to listen to the next question, "We expect simple arms, hammers, axes, perhaps short blades. The running theory is that these brigands are just workers who got fed up in some other town." The last two questions give the deputy pause, slowly he speaks. "Of course, it is our duty to take them in alive so that we may show them the full force of the law, but..." A grim look slowly comes over his face as he places a hand on the half-orc's shoulder. "They have made it clear they find no value in the lives of other people. See to it that you find none in theirs, if necessary."

Deputy Simms turns then and nearly finds himself running over the halfling as he steps up. "Oh, pardon, I didn't see you there. Thank you, we're glad to have the help. I'm sure that crossbow will come in handy." It is then that the Sheriff joins them, the crowd having dispersed fully. "Well. This is it." He turns to his deputy. "I trust that you've insured they're well-armed?" A nod. "Good, the day grows longer and our time shorter. Let us make haste." And with that, Sheriff Hagenauer leads the small troupe towards and out on the North road.

With like recognizing like, Tanglar doesn't offer to shake the Human's hand directly. Instead summoning his own mage hand with a few arcane words and a specific gesture. Tanglar directs the mage hand to shake the other mage hand. Tanglar makes eye contact with the Human, and gives them a brief nod, and a lopsided smile. 'A Dwarf, a Halfling, a Human, a Tiefling and a Half-Orc. What a multicultural group. This is going to be interesting., and I look forward to getting to know each of these people.'' When Tanglar takes the Tiefling's hand in addition to his name he adds a heartfelt, but somber, "I want to thank you for your service."

All the while listening to the deputy's answers, Tanglar takes a moment to look over his companions, and think on what they've each shown so far. 'Tygven Silverscar. Firm handshake, confident manner, and a little sassy. Despite his gruffness, I think I like him. The Halfling didn't share their name. Hands in their pockets, seeming shy. Ranged support is always handy if this assembly comes to blows. The Tiefling drew the Sheriff's notice, and seems to have a military background. I think I will follow their lead. The Human has some magical aptitude. I've never had the chance to see the weave played before, this will be interesting indeed. '

Tanglar nods to the deputy, "If things degrade to violence, I will do my best to avoid lethal blows." As the Sheriff arrives and suggests leaving immediately, Tanglar nods, "I will need to stop by my shop for a moment to grab a few things. I was working when the bells rang, and don't have any of my traveling gear with me." With that, Tanglar jogs over to the Quill and Ink to grab the bag that Quill packed his tools into earlier. With his gear gathered, he pens a quick note to his Uncle and Brother to let them know where he's gone off to. Locking the door behind him, he jogs back to catch up with the group.