Upon a Story

The afternoon sun cast angular shadows throughout Reieg wood. Amber rays filtered through branches and boughs, casting long shadows on the leaf-littered floor. Silent but for the occasional call and response of the grey finch, the forest presented a serene picture of autumn beauty. It would take an uncommonly observant traveller to notice the brigands on either side of the lane which meandered through Reieg to the Lybin River beyond. These men were not meant to be seen. The only thing most targets ever saw of their assailants was the fletching of an arrow protruding from their chest, or the handle of the dagger which had just slammed into their neck. The Fell Brigade, as the fearful townfolk had branded them, were nothing if not efficient.No one could truly say how many men comprised the Fell Brigade, only that the manner of death was never consistent from one killing to the next. The fact that they existed came from the dying words of Myron Key.

Key was a soldier in his youth, and had worked as a blacksmith for the next 40 years of his life. A mountain of a man, he earned extra money by as a barkeep in the Leaping Trout. He would always give a drunkard ample opportunity to settle down, preferring to resolve things amicably. However, a well placed thump from the cudgel he always kept hanging from his belt loop was a viable second option at all times. Until his reputation was well-known, Key often found himself in the street in front of the Trout, facing a hot-head with an aching skull and several of his brothers or friends. Only Key would walk away from these fight uninjured, leaving men howling in pain, or running in the other direction.

When Key decided to retire, he sold his smith, and his stake in the Leaping Trout. This netted him a large chest of gold, and a small farm in the countryside.as he packed up his family and belongings, he set off in a wagon toward Reieg Wood.....