It's a dark windy night; the air is warm but the breeze cool. A smell wafts through the air; you can't tell if it's the acidic smell of blood or rotting fish from the nearby market. When a shadow skitters across the alley before you, you feel the hairs on your neck stand on end. Wishing that the moon would stop hiding behind the clouds, you move closer to see what is there. A tap on your shoulder has your body bracing and hand moving to the hilt of your sword.
"At's a mighty fine sword ya 'ave 'ere. I ain't lookin' for nah problems. I was told ter find folk like ya; brave, bold, lookin' for adventure, and bloody 6's and 7's if ye ask me... Annie, sweet girl, she wants ya ter 'ave this."
The tired old man that you now face reaches into his ratty leather jacket that has you tensing, expecting the worst. Instead of a weapon, he pulls out a battered scroll. You unfurl it and hold it toward a nearby lantern to read the words spilling across it. You quickly look up searching for the old man but you only see the black cat perched on an upturned crate licking its paws.
