With captivated eyes all who could see heeded the writings of the parchment,

To all those who hold themselves high and mighty as hero’s, hear my pleas for this be a fearsome quest. Return to me my amulet of fortune and you will be greatly rewarded. - Edgar Howling, of the Sword District.

The parchment was stapled to the post of the tavern two weeks ago now. And everyone took into consideration this mighty quest for gold. After all who wouldn’t want to be rich?

Of course, Faelar had his own intentions with accepting this quest. He knew the artifact that was sought was worth way more than just gold. And he had quite the intention of returning the artifact to his mistress. Maybe then this cursed pact would be broken.

He’d look up towards the Tavern doors before pushing inside past the cedar gates, the instant hustle of patrons moving about greeting him. The smell of ale and the ringing of laughter practically incapacitating him. He’d always hated anything to do with being stuck in a room with drunken fools. He was a warlock far too powerful and intelligent to be situated with a bunch of low lives.

His amethyst gaze set upon his target however. A cloaked figure, most likely elven sitting at one of the round tables in the corner. Surrounded by what he could only assume to be a handful of others selected to join him on this quest.

’How wonderful.’ He thought, rolling his eyes as he approached the table.