Happy was the chance that brought your company in contact with the young cleric, Jeralen. Though still something of a mystery—you do not know his deity or faith, nor how he came into the divine power he possesses—but he more than held his own. During your ambush of the Toe-Cutters his healing spells helped carry the day, and when the war party tracked you down he was everywhere: healing the ranger each time orcish swords cut him, and then unleashing a hail of mace blows that crushed enemies. Combined with the ferocious rage of the hill-man, the lethal sneak attacks of the ranger, and the graceful death blows the monk delivered, you were victorious. All it took from there were the steadying words of the cleric, and the engineers worked quickly and deliberately to get the job done.
All in all though it was hot work, but the wood-wise scouting of the shaman and his companion, and some quick thinking from ranger meant that you went from hunted to hunter…and then back to hunted again. You have bloodied the nose of that orc-tribe, but you have made enemies, and though you could not hear them, the hill over the lake to the north echoed to orcish howls of rage and hatred.
But that’s as may be—you made it back to Arabel and delivered the courier pouch. The geas removed, and each one of you weighted down by 50 more gold coins in your pocket, you moved out to the Griffon for a drink and a hot meal. News must travel fast in Arabel these days though—before the night was out you were being congratulated by Briidie for your new status as the hot hand for the Ravens.
Plenty fast, because the next day you receive an invitation to call upon Ilane, lord Baron of Ghars at his home in the Citadel district…