"There's a reason I've called you both here today. He doesn't look like much, but I'm sure durin’ that brief moment between you two, you would've also sensed it. He's... different." - Shamil Cambridge, speaking with Allister regarding Zero.

A blanket of warm, fulgent light gently washes over the bustling streets of a city. Horse-drawn carriages clatter about over the weathered, cobblestone ground below, and together with the sound of haggling and rowdy banter, a capriccio of medieval life can be felt in every corner of the City of Thieves. People of many different walks of life and many different ancestries come and go between old buildings built on stone foundations and plastered with aging, yellowish lime wash between molding wooden frames and dusty glass windows. However, a touch of mysticism turns the rustic cityscape into a canvas of fantasy life; a human woman makes quick work of cleaning her second-story windows with an ethereal, floating hand; an elven man ignites his fireplace with the snap of his fingers; a gnome lights her basement with four orbs of colorful lights that dance around her.

The loud ensemble of the streets do little to drown out the clanging of metal plating clashing against each other. A slightly-tanned, well-armored gentleman meanders his way through the crowds, his crimson red eyes scanning each individual’s face passing by as his short, jet-black hair waves in the wind. His facial features are young and handsome, yet foreign, which causes some commotion in the streets as he walks. The shield on his back brandishes the holy symbol of his deity; the King of Dragonkind, BAHAMUT. In short, he is a paladin, and here in the City of Thieves, they tend not to be well received by the unsavory crowds that lurk in the dark underbelly of the city. Regardless, the paladin moves slowly, with determination and focus, ignoring the glares and quiet gossip of the streets as he continues his search, but it isn’t until a hand reaches out to grab his shoulder that he breaks away from his trance.

“Lookin’ for someone?”

The paladin turns his head and meets the gaze of a dark-skinned woman in simple clothing, a white coat draped around her shoulders like a cape. Her caramel-colored hair flows down to her lower back, the color matching her dark brown eyes, and her right-swept bangs frame her young but dignified facial features. A scar runs diagonally across the bridge of her nose, from her left eyebrow down to the right corner of her mouth. Her ears are slightly pointed upwards, but it isn’t as prominent as an elf’s would normally be. Everything about this woman screams "adventurer," thus, the paladin is wary of her; adventurers are a psychotic bunch who risk their lives everyday for treasure. In fact, the very act of taking ‘treasure’ from some ancient ruins or monster’s den is borderline graverobbing, so who in their right mind would risk their own life just to commit some morally dubious treasure hunting? As the paladin paints the half-elf in his fantastical image, he responds to her rather mettlesome query dismissively.

“I’m sorry, but that’s none of your business,” the paladin replies, glaring at the woman whose hand remains latched onto his shoulder. “Is there something you need from me?”

The dark-skinned woman regards the paladin with a mix of confusion and interest; perhaps she's never met a paladin with a look like his. Paladins are the public face of the church, just as the guards and soldiers are the public face of the government. These dutiful guardians of the church are resolute on their holy tenets, and rarely does that lead a paladin to be so openly dismissive about other people. However, the woman sees a hint of anger in his eyes, and she feels she understands his intentions.

“Why else would a paladin like you be doing in a place like this, especially one who comes from the eastern regions? There's no way Fhàda would send any of the bishop's beloved guard dogs to challenge the Thieves' guild here.”

Fhàda, the capital city of the Church of BAHAMUT and capital of the Great Tepani Desert on the southern end of the Empire of Dragons: Drakenlande. Icota, the City of Thieves, lies a few day's trip by carriage from the border of Drakenlande, making it an ideal place for merchants to pass through between trips. It's because of these merchants that thieves began to flock to this city, hoping to take advantage of stealing some exotic wares from across the border and sell on the black market for exorbitant prices. The city guard has attempted to halt the excessive skullduggery, but when the thieves set up a base of operations, it grew too large too quickly to bring down. Raids on the guild are common, but even that has been on the decline in recent years. There is no branch of the Church of BAHAMUT here in Icota, so there would be no reason for the bishop to send his blessed knights to deal with the guild.

“If you need nothing from me, I shall take my leave.” The paladin shoves the woman’s hand off his shoulder before turning away with an apathetic scowl. “Besides, I’m not here for the church.”

“Now hold it right there, boy. If it’s not church business you’re on, then I might have some information worth your time.”

“Sorry, but I don’t have time for—" 

“You’re lookin’ for a cult member, aren’t ya?” the woman interrupts.

The paladin returns the woman’s gaze with sudden intrigue. The bishop wouldn't send paladins to deal with a guild of thieves, but if it were an enemy of the church, that would be another issue worth debating. The half-elf knows the paladin was looking for them, but he is certain she knows the exact cult he's looking for, which makes him all the more apprehensive about this woman. Regardless, he has his reasons for leaving his hometown, crossing the border, and pursuing a single individual who may not even be who he is looking for. He takes a risk.

“I’m listening.”

“Great!" the woman exclaims, far more excited than she probably should be given the weight of the issue. "How about we talk elsewhere? A loud and crowded area is less than ideal when having such sensitive topics to discuss." The woman beams at the paladin. He gives her a look of defeat. “My name is Shamil Cambridge.” The woman extends her arm with an open hand, awaiting a handshake.

“Allister;” the paladin states as he returns the gesture with a firm grip, “Allister Winchester."

***

Two large, wooden doors fly open, revealing a rowdy interior filled with hardy folk howling in laughter over pints of alcohol. They all shift their gazes over to Shamil who had kicked open the doors with her heeled boot, Allister following close behind. All of them look like they've been through tough adventures with scars littering their toned bodies and their loud, booming voices and hardy laughter can be heard even from outside the guildhall. Occasionally, a hard slam of a fist would break a table in two, while another group might get into a fight where a crowd would form and make bets on the winner. The only time they’re quiet is when they’re taking a look at the quest board for jobs, but even then, they tend to fight over who gets what job. So these are adventurers, huh? They're obnoxiously loud… Allister mulls over the thought, beginning to regret following Shamil to the guildhall.

According to Shamil, she’s the Guildmaster of the Hunter's Guild. The guild's main purpose is to give hunters a place where they can rest, exchange information, look up bounties, and make some money. At least, it WAS for hunters, but it slowly began attracting adventures as the city's population grew. A famous explorer published an incredible logbook recounting his discovery of many hidden ancient ruins of Elven origin, prompting aspiring and burgeoning prospectors and adventurers to scour the region. They weren't welcomed at first, but as more and more adventurers found success in selling ancient Elvish relics and jewelry, the guild began to make shifts into what it is now, though the name never changed. Hunters still use the guildhall, after all.

Shamil's main goal currently is to scout new members in the hopes of growing the Guild's roster, but most folk worth their salt in combat in the City of Icota are either pompous nobles with shady ties to the underground, or thieves who own said underground. Allister's hometown has a guild like this one as well, but they were never this rowdy. This is a little much, thinks Allister with a strained smile as Shamil is greeted by the entourage.

"Shamil! Welcome back!"

"How's the scoutin' goin' fer ya?"

"Come on and have a drink with us!"

Shamil only smiles and waves as the group slowly returns to whatever conversations they’ve been having.

"Charmin’, aren't they?" Shamil says with a wry smile.

"Are they always… like this?" Allister pauses halfway through his sentence, trying not to be so frank, but his inquietude is palpable.

"Pretty much. You won't find anyone so elegant or polite in this city, that's for sure. Unless you’re talking to the nobles up top, or Tony I guess, but he's from the capital."

"I see." Who's Tony? Allister asks himself, though he doesn't think it’s worth asking about. He'll probably find out sooner or later.

Allister scans the environment before him, taking in the sight of the guildhall’s interior. The main chamber is a large hall, easily over 100 feet long and about 30 feet wide, with a tall and open, vaulted wooden ceiling about 60 feet tall. Many windows line both sides of the main frame running down the spine of the ceiling, the angle of the ceiling allowing the windows to cast a little bit of sunlight into the moody interior. A single chandelier made of boar tusks illuminates the rest of the warm, wooden interior as it hangs down from the ceiling precariously on a rusty chain. The ground floor is complete with rustic oak dining tables, benches, and a single candle in the middle of each table. At the far end of the hall just below the main, winding staircase leading up to the second floor is a bar, where a man in relatively formal attire stands idly behind the worn counter. This must be Tony, the man Shamil was just talking about. He's currently cleaning up mugs in silence while patrons enjoy their drinks over exaggerated stories of glory and adventure. Allister doesn’t believe even half of what they're saying, but their passionate, bombastic delivery of each tale is enough to make them entertaining just to listen to. 

As Allister walks around the hall, he can see that the walls of the hall are decorated with animal heads and paintings of the Great Plains, which only adds to the rustic, homely feel of the hall. To the right of the entrance lives the Guild's quest board on a slightly raised platform; dozens of requests are plastered on the oak board, visited by several guild members who are most likely searching for a job. There seems to be a particularly indecisive adventurer who also seems to live by the quest board, according to the group of guild members admonishing him for never being able to decide on any job. Their brotherly banter elicits a snicker from Allister who has fond memories of having such conversations, though those same memories carry a bittersweet nature to them, and thus, Allister suddenly feels homesick. 

The second floor is visible from the first, sporting an opening with wooden balusters to keep it separated from the rest of the hall. Allister can see people moving about the hallways, but it looks as if the second floor is less active and most likely where some of the more “red tape” aspects of the guild are done. One of the doors he can see up on the second floor is gilded with gold and silver, ornately designed with a characteristic quality that only Dwarves can craft. Perhaps the room on the other side of the doors is the guildmaster’s office. Judging by the side the room is placed, Allister can guess that the view from the window inside the room would overlook the royal castle, which gives it quite the posh aesthetic compared to the more blue-collared look of the ground floor. Also seeing other doors with ornately designed, wooden carvings leads Allister to conclude that the guildhall might operate in a sort of caste system, or at least cater to more experienced adventurers, which would most likely motivate the lower tiers into working harder to gain more benefits from the guild. Either that or the second floor is simply a living space for adventurers who are always taking jobs and would prefer to live as close to the quest board as possible. Given the gregarious nature of the guild members, perhaps it’s the latter, and for some reason, Allister finds himself smiling a little.

Overall, the guildhall gives Allister the impression that the people here aren't exactly the barbaric brutes he originally pegged them to be, but rather a familial community under one roof. Shamil notices his smile and gives him a smile of her own. However, that does not last long, as Allister begins to react to something foul; the familiar odor of the undead and the fiendish, which confuses Allister. Is a devil hiding around the guild? And why the undead?

For a paladin like Allister, fiends are, for all intents and purposes, the reason paladins exist. Fiends come from the nightmarish realms of the Nine Hells, a place where the spirits of dead, evil individuals reside. Fiends are unholy in every way, producing a foul but magical odor that is abhorrent to the sensitive noses of paladins, guardians of the church. As proof of his loyalty, Allister’s shield is emblazoned with the symbol of BAHAMUT, King of good dragons and one of the lesser deities of justice. Perhaps the greatest fiend to Allister would be BAHAMUT's evil sister, TIAMAT, the Queen of evil dragons and a lesser deity of chaos and greed, and that horrid stench of the fiends is coming from the bar located in the back of the premises, though it is quite faint. Shamil seems to notice this change in attitude and subtly addresses it. 

"I need to organize some papers first, so you can head by the bar while you wait." Shamil gives Allister a wry grin. "Just don't cause too much trouble, alright?"

Allister nods in response, silently wondering if Shamil is a mind-reader. His hometown had several self-proclaimed psychics and fortune tellers, so it's not so strange to think that way. Shamil starts to make her way to the stairs, while Allister makes his way to the bar. As he closes in on the stench, he sees a man unlike the others in the hall; he has white hair, pulled back into a man-bun. His skin is fair with a slight tan to it, highlighting the toned muscles showing from underneath his black, leather armor. He has a sword on his back, with a circular pommel like a coin and a hilt wrapped in black leather. The man is passed out on the counter, drool streaming from his mouth and pooling onto the wood. It is an unsightly scene before Allister, but it's nothing new at the guildhall.

Allister notices the half-empty mug of alcohol in the man's left hand. Did he pass out before finishing his drink? Seriously? Despite being a paladin, Allister has been known to let himself indulge in worldly desires now and again, thus Allister picks up the half-drunken mug of ale and chugs it down confidently.

Immediately after finishing the drink, a hand grabs hold of Allister’s wrist with a fierce grip, like a jaguar latching onto its prey with its jaws. Allister fixes his gaze to the poor drunkard who is now wide awake, with a glare that drills holes into Allister's soul. The drunken man's eyes are glowing with a golden sheen, and his expression is dark and menacing.

"What do you think you're doing, boy," the man says in a deep and full-bodied voice. 

Why does everyone call me ‘boy?’ I know I’m still young, but come on! Allister’s thoughts do not match his expression, however, but despite being taken aback by the man's sudden aggression, Allister keeps his ground.

"Finishing what you started." 

Allister gives the man a smug smirk. The man seems even more irritated now than before. He gets up, never letting go of Allister's wrist, and draws his sword, holding the edge of the blade as close to Allister's neck as possible. Allister puts his free hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it. At this point, the commotion in the guildhall grows louder as people encourage the fight that is about to happen.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Allister and the man both take quick glances at the crowd forming around them before staring back at each other.

"Let's give them what they want," Allister says, provoking the man to action. 

The tension in the air is high, but a loud, booming voice cuts through it like a hot knife through butter.

"Alright, that's enough!"

Everyone in the guildhall stops their chanting and gazes up on the second floor, where Shamil is standing, staring daggers into the eyes of everyone in the guildhall, her commanding presence giving credence to her position. They back away and return to their usual selves before Shamil speaks up again.

"You two, come up here. I'm ready to talk." 

Shamil gestures at both Allister and the man. They both look at each other, blinking in confusion. It seems Shamil had her eyes on two individuals.

***

"What's he doing here?" asks Allister, pointing directly at the man who not two minutes ago passed out at a bar. The man sits in silence, his eyes closed and arms folded.

The two of them are in Shamil's office room on the second floor. It's a small room, only large enough to hold an office desk and leather chair, two wooden chairs in front of the desk, and a few drawers. The back wall has a large window, where the light of the sun shines through, bathing the room in natural light, though several candles are placed throughout the room. The rest of the walls are plastered with various maps of the three Great Continents, especially of Andova, the continent where the Alliance of Eirland sits in the south. The City of Icota is marked in bold on most maps. Allister himself came to this city in search of an individual related to a dark cult, but he lost track of them last night when they slipped into an alleyway and seemingly disappeared.

Shamil sighs in exasperation before responding.

"There's a reason I've called you both here. He doesn't look like much, but I'm sure during that brief moment between you two, you would've also sensed it. He's... different."

"Tch…" Allister clicks his tongue in irritation. It's true; Allister sensed a sort of primal savagery coming from the man, and that stench…

Allister, after a few seconds of huffing, decided it would be best to leave it at that and listen to Shamil.

"Thank you," Shamil says, flashing a quick smile of relief before her expression becomes serious. "First of all, I'd like to talk a little about why I brought you two here."

"You said you had information on the Cult, right?" Allister gives her a suspicious look.

"And you told me you had information about… a certain someone." The man pauses as he speaks, perhaps to ensure he doesn't say more than necessary. Of course, this piques Allister's interest a bit, but he remains silent.

Shamil puts her hands up and shoots the two a nervous smile.

"Now, now. I did say I had information you both seek." Shamil puts her hands down before continuing. "But, I have a favor to ask you both."

"A favor?" Allister says, tilting his head in intrigue.

"You see, I had a certain request sent to the guild. At first, it was just a typical client; a survivor of a village raid sent here for help. It was posted on the guild's quest board, but no one has bothered to take it." Shamil hangs her head slightly in melancholy. "It's been a week already."

"Hmm... Is the village even famous? It must not be very special if adventurers aren’t willing to take the quest, right?"

Shamil's expression becomes one of worry. 

"The village is located north of the city by the foot of the mountains. It's called ‘Copperidge,’ but that name is known more for the mine near the village than the village itself." 

Shamil shifts in her seat as if preparing herself mentally. 

"You see, the village was attacked and burned down. When news came to the city regarding the event, I sent a few scouts to oversee the area, but the cause for the village's current state and the lack of inhabitants is unknown." 

Beads of sweat are forming on her forehead, something Allister notices immediately.

"I see, but that's still not the whole story, is it?" Allister glares into Shamil’s eyes, trying to coax her into giving him more information. "What details are you leaving out?"

Shamil shuffles in her seat before sighing again. She meets Allister's glare before speaking.

"Well, the scouts also found… Draconic writing."

Allister perks up upon hearing the word "Draconic." It is a language commonly spoken by dragons, but they hardly wrote anything down as they felt no need to do so. The dragon language was mostly verbal as a result, but it was the races that descended from them that constructed the written language, and one of those races are…

"Kobolds, most likely." 

The man, who'd been silent this whole time, finally speaks up, startling both Shamil and Allister. "Damn lizards are probably protecting a dragon's egg or something. Maybe two."

"This is why no one in the guild wants to take the job. Despite how weak and fragile Kobolds are, they're masters at trap-makin’. Adventurers and soldiers alike have underestimated them on numerous occasions, only to suffer major casualties by the end of it." Shamil looks down at the floor as she says this, an expression on her face that shows her frustration.  "I want to help the villagers, but they must be long gone by now. At the very least, I want to know what happened." Shamil shifts her gaze back at Allister and the man with a stern look, a fire set ablaze in her eyes.

Allister is a paladin, a guardian of his deity and protector of the weak, but even he is hesitant about taking on the quest. As much as Allister would love to further diminish the Kobold population, he agrees that facing them head on inside their home territory would be suicidal. Not only that, but the man said that they might be protecting a dragon egg, and where there's a dragon egg, there's a dragon who laid it.

"I'm in." 

The man accepts the quest so naturally that it takes Allister a few seconds to process what was just said.

"Huh!?" Allister is completely dumbfounded, and his face shows it. "Didn't you say that they might even be protecting a dragon egg?"

"All the more reason to go." The man stands up, his resolve firm. "If we let something like this pass us by, who knows when that wyrmling will terrorize another village."

Despite Allister's disdain for the man, even he had to admit that the man had a good point there. As a guardian of his deity and protector of the people, Allister can not stand idly by and watch as another village falls victim to a dragon attack, especially if he could have done something about it to begin with. Allister finally lets out a deep sigh before speaking. 

"Alright, fine. You have a good point. I'm in too."

"Thank you," Shamil says, unable to contain her smile. "Now, before you two go, why don't you introduce yourselves. I would like to know your names and who you are."

Allister gets up and puffs out his chest. 

"Allister Winchester. I am a Paladin in service to Bahamut, and I hail from Miliana City in Drakenlande."

"... Zero. Blood Hunter." The man, now known as Zero, speaks firmly with a deep voice.

"That's it?" Allister looks at Zero with a mix of confusion and disappointment.

"..." Zero's apathetic silence is somehow grating Allister's ears.

"Well, where are you—Hey, wait a second! Get back here!" 

Allister spoke mid-sentence before Zero turned around and headed out the door. "What in the Nine Hells was that about?"

"Sounds like you have your hands full. Good luck, hero." Shamil teases Allister with a wry grin.

"Ugh… What did I get myself into…" 

Allister mutters to himself, making his way out the room. Before he does, Shamil calls him again.

“Allister. I forgot to mention this, but there is another who will accompany you. As much as I told him to wait, he went ahead to the site by himself. If you see him, reprimand him for me, would ya?” Shamil says, a worried grin plastered on her face.

Allister nods and agrees to do so before closing the door of the office. Silence fills the room once again, leaving Shamil to her own devices.

"I hope everything goes well, Helm guide them." Shamil whispers to herself.

With that, the two unlikely heroes set off on a journey, not knowing what the future holds for them.