the ratfolk, as his green eyes avoided making eye contact. The remaining half-elf servant, however, puts him at ease. Not that she can't hold her own in a fight, but her appearance is disarming, as if to put one at ease.

"And hello to you!" he speaks to the servant. In spite of his grave and husky voice, he puts on a friendly look, nodding and swinging the flaps of the cloak by the sides of his head. "We're here for the call of adventure!" He talked like, what he thought, was your average adventurer; it isn't truthful to himself, but at least it'll set a good impression. Is Lady Aldori available to speak?"

The half-elf woman smiles and gives Zrak a small bow, "Hello sir, ma'am." She turns to bow at Malkala as well, "Welcome to Lady Aldori's manor. She is currently preparing for today's event, but you should be able to speak with her before the night is done." She waves a hand toward the inside of the manor as she says, "Please follow me. I will take you to the Great Hall."

With nearly silent footsteps, she leads the pair into the manor. The walls and ceilings of the manor are made from wooden panels, carefully cleaned frequently and waxed to a beautiful sheen. The floor is a rug covered stone, the rug not quite reaching both walls, colored a medium purple. The light of the manor comes from oil lamps hanging from metal hooks nailed into the walls, the metal a color near black. As the pair nears each lamp, they can smell the faint scent of cinnamon, giving the rest of the air a pleasant feel even if the smell is not always noticeable.

In front of the pair, about twenty-five feet ahead, is a pair of wooden doors. Each panel of the door has an artistic representation of battles, each one centered around a woman with a long black ponytail wielding a slightly curved blade. As the pair continue approaching, they start hearing voices from the other side of the doors getting louder and with each step, Malkala's excitement continues to increase behind a carefully maintained exterior of calm study. Once they get to the door, the servant barely hesitates before she places a hand on one of the doors' golden handle and pushes in.

What the pair see as they take a step inside is a grand hall prepared for a great feast. Servants hustle and bustle about, while several armed soldiers-Lady Jamandi's house guards-watch over the hall from their positions against the east and west walls. To the north, a fire crackles away in a large fireplace. An iron lever secured by a lock adorns the fireplace's eastern face. Two massive crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling twenty feet above. The walls are decorated with painted murals of idyllic woodland scenes: nymphs frolicking amid waterfalls, satyrs dancing with fawns in wooded glades, and various winged fairy creatures flitting through the trees. Nine long tables are arranged around the central portion of the room, each holding plates, utensils, mugs, goblets, and full, ready-to-be-poured pitchers of ale, wine, mead, and water. The smell of roasted meat and other delicious scents fill the room, yet no food has yet been served.

Each table is full of adventurers talking excitedly as they wait for the feast to start. The pair get their fair share of looks, as most of the people in attendance are humans, elves, dwarves, halflings, gnomes, and various half-races in-between. However, most are more interested in their conversations.

"So," Malkala breathes, "honestly, the scale and pressure of what we are doing did not really hit me until just now."

"Damn, you have no idea," Zrak responds, taking in the absolute, grand sight of the hall. He only heard about the grandiose size of manors and castles; to see them in person was vastly different.

His whiskered snout sniffs and twitches at the scent of meat, finding warmth from the stone-encased fireplace that lightly cracks and cackles away. He tilts his head up, observing the woodland murals like a fascinated child, leaning back and forth on his pale feet. He's seen so few forests throughout his life, having been in Numeria for a long time. Seeing pictures of beautiful, lively forests is a total fantasy. How do these places exist in Golarion? He could've looked at the murals all day, if it wasn't for his stomach. It grumbles, shaking the bowels of his body in pain and fixating his sights on the upcoming feast

Joining Malkala, Zrak sits at an empty end of one table. In an uncomfortable display, his snout rests right on the soft, scarlet-tinted wood. He moves up on his knees, having the height necessary for the table, and admires the detailed plates and cups. In his... unusual manners, the ratfolk reaches over and grabs the nearby pitcher with his thin, pale hands, then lifts over his head, tilts, and lets a gobble of liquid pour down into his large mouth. "Mmm, mmm, mmm!" He swishes the liquid in his puffed cheeks before swallowing it in an impressive gulp. "Well that's the best mead I ever had! C'mon Malkala, drink up!"

Then, noticing everyone else isn't drinking straight from the pitcher, Zrak simply pours more mead into his mug.

Malkala barely gets a chance to sit down before a loud woman's voice booms from the other side of the table, "Ha ha! The tiny rat knows how to enjoy a feast!"

The pair look up to see a woman of pale complexion. The leathers, cloth, and hide armor she wears does little to hide the muscles of great strength. Her eyes shine with excitement and her mouth is stained with mead that she has already downed as well. But the most amazing thing about her is the absolutely massive greatsword she has strapped to her back. It is made of a metal so worn and nicked that under certain light it might look more like stone than metal. But what makes it amazing to look at is that from tip to pommel it is nearly as tall as she is, and its blade is almost as wide as her too. Even with her muscles, you wonder how she is able to effectively brandish such a weapon.

"Come tiny furball!" She booms again, holding up her own mug, "Let us drink!"

"I am surrounded by complete imbeciles."

Malkala turns to her right to find a human man with black leather armor, a thin rapier-like blade, and a handsome face. However, it was the gnome man on the other side of him that made the comment. The gnome is wearing a garrish purple robe that almost matches his pale purple hair with a dagger at his leather belt and black leather boots. He looks more like a prince than an adventurer, his clothes obviously expensive and pristine.

"I do not understand how any of you think you will be able to conquer the Stolen Lands. I will obviously succeed where you all will fail."

"Now, Tartuccio," the black-armored man says with a bit of a chiding tone, "There is no need for that today. This is a day of celebration after all!"

He then turns to Malkala with a hand outstretched, "Maegar Varn, my lady. May I ask for your name?"

Malkala, who had been studying each person at the table as they spoke, hesitates for a brief moment, taken aback by the man. She quickly shakes it off and takes his hand, "Malkala, sir."

Maegar kisses the back of her hand and gives her a polite smile, "What a wonderful name. I don't think I have seen your people before. I hope to have the chance to talk before the evening ends."

"Me too! Me too! I want to hear all of your stories!"

A halfling woman with medium length brown hair and a headband of tans and browns nearly leaps across the table with how hard she leans forward. Her green tunic sits on top of a white long-sleeved shirt and puffy pants of greens and browns. On her back is a lute and under her hands, now on the table, is a blue book that is massive compared to her tiny frame. At her side is a simple curved blade.

Her attention turns to the hall, "Ooh, it is so great to be at this Feast of Heroes! I can't wait to write down all that happen here!"

The human woman sitting next to the halfling looks to her and narrows her eyes in slight disappointment, "Now Linzi, you must calm yourself. You are not acting as one with manners should."

The woman is heavily armored with plate that is obsessively kept. Her longsword sits at her side in a sheath that is also very beautiful, and a large steel and wooden shield is on her back. But what catches the pair's eyes is that she is a beautiful woman with short blonde hair and striking blue eyes. It takes Malkala a second to pull her gaze away from those blue wells.

The woman turns to Zrak and Malkala, "I apologize for their behavior. Though I must say that you," her full attention turns to Zrak, "could have approached the table with better manners yourself."

"Why does it matter anyway? We only count down time until the End of Days."

The dour, mellow voice comes from a male dwarf in medium armor of chain and leather. At his side is a flail, its chains rattling with every movement. His small shield sits on his back, and in the reflection of nearby metal, you can see that it has a large skull stamped into it. As he sits, he is twirling his grey mustache and beard.

"Groetus will inevitably take all into his arms."

There is one last person at the table, though they have not spoken nor really moved. If one did not look close enough, they might have thought of her as dead. Her elven skin has the color near death and her long black hair is shaggy as if she had just woken up from a long sleep. But, her eyes are moving back and forth between all at the table, focusing intently on those speaking at the time. Her armor is dark and next to her is a large, sharp scythe.

Noticing a brief pause after the dwarf's spoke, mumbling some nonsense about the inevitable end and all, Zrak's husk and dust-caked voice speaks up. "Bah, so we eventually die. What's wrong enjoying it until then?" He stands on his feet upon the neat wooden chair and clasps his mug with the woman next to him, the one whose massive greatsword swayed on her back like Zrak's rough tail.

"Drink!"

He sits back down upon his knees and dunks the mead into his hefty mouth, fitting the entire cup's contents in and swallowing it in several giant gulps. He's never had this much to drink before, and damned is he if he didn't take advantage of it.

The lively talk of other adventures had quite an effect on Zrak, mug held between his thin, sharp pale hands. The commotion differs from the line to the manor. Seeing everyone together, sitting down, being themselves... it reminds him of his own family; each was different, argued amongst each other, but ultimately were together. The mead's contents prove similarly but especially relieving, drinking as if it was an elixir of life. "I haven't seen this many adventurers before," he continues, "Name's Zrak, from Numeria. Who are you all?"

The dwarf scratches at his beard a bit more, "My name is Harrim, and of course there is merit in enjoying life while-"

"Amiri!" The woman with the massive sword answers as she takes a great pull from her mug, "You may be tiny, but you know how to have fun!"

The beautiful, heavily armored woman sighs and turns to Malkala, "My name is Valerie." She puts her hand to her chest and bows. Malkala does the same, "Malkala."

The halfling woman practically bounces out of her seat in excitement, "I am Linzi!" She then opens up her book and starts writing in it, joyously humming to herself as she does.

"You better remember the name, Tartuccio!" The gnome says with no end of spite, "Because it is the name you will be putting after 'Your Majesty'!"

Next to Tartuccio, the black armored human smirks, "Maegar Varn, in case no one heard last time. I may not have the attitude that Tartuccio does, I sure have the impatience. Varnhold awaits me in the Stolen Lands."

The pale woman that had not spoken up so far, simply says, "Jaethal."

Just before anyone can make any other comments, the double doors everyone entered from opens. While there was no cue to do so, everyone in the hall quiets down and turns to watch.

A striking half-elf woman enters the hall, followed by an aristocratic, middle-aged human man. The man wears finely tailored clothing, fit for a noble, while the woman appears dressed for battle. She wears a fine leather coat over a sparkling mail shirt, and at her waist hangs an Aldori dueling sword with a bright silver pommel. The two make their way to the head table, where they remain standing.

The man speaks first. "Greetings, heroes! I am Ioseph Sellemius, lord mayor of Restov. And this," he gestures to the woman beside him, "is Lady Jamandi Aldori. We both thank you for answering her call for heroes. You may be few, but we need only the best for this great task."

Lady Jamandi offers the room a broad smile before she speaks. "South of here, beyond Brevoy's border, lie the Stolen Lands. This disputed territory has been claimed time and again by would-be settlers, but because the area has been a haven for bandits and monsters, it has never been held for long. Restov intends for this to change.

"If you have enough courage to drive off the dangerous denizens of the Stolen Lands, you can seize territory for yourselves and name yourselves baronesses or barons. Restov intends to recognize the legitimacy of the new rulers of this land, and none of the other neighboring realms care enough to challenge you. We are prepared to provide backing as a trade partner and military ally. If you claim the land, you will have my-indeed, all of Restov's-support!"

Lady Jamandi raises her goblet. "But the details of your individual missions and charters into the Stolen Lands can wait. I raise my glass to you, brave heroes! For now, let us eat and enjoy the evening. Tomorrow promises to be a very busy day."

With her final words, the hall erupts into cheers as the servants start refilling pitchers and bringing