The air was crisp and clean, and shadows seemed to lumber over our sleepy little village. The village was in the centre of a low-lying mountain valley as if the town was built on the bottom of a large hole, and the other most notable feature of the wayward village was a single river that seemed to cut the valley in two. As if being at the bottom of a hole was not bad enough from the young people's perspective, the spot was also wet, but the fishing in the fall was outstanding. To Rebecca's misfortune, the young boys would come to the tavern each fall and try to impress her with the stories of the fish they would haul up from the river's depths. Fish tales never interest Rebecca; she would rather be down at the river herself than what feels like looking after the town.

This time of year, the river burst at its seams because of the spring floods created by the monstrous mountains that walled the village from the town. It seemed as if nature herself began a natural fortress around the peaceful community. This small frontier village did have a wall surrounding it because when it was first settled, or as the stories go, they were raided by everything from bandits to giant stone golems if you believed Old Man Thatcher's tales. However, on this one average day, besides the lingering shows, two men stand having a conversation about this hole in the world's little village.

"Calvary has two main festivals yearly, Spring Breakup and Winter's Night. Spring Breakup marks the celebration of the First Comers, laying the first groundwork for our city. Ten families ranging from all backgrounds. My family are the Smiths, and we are..."

"Let me guess you are blacksmiths," Drovic steps in, cutting off the man, bored of his rants about the history of their town. Town, at best Drovic thought, was more of a village. He starts to laugh with himself at his private joke.

"You are a quick one," he breaks out in a huge belly laugh, "I like this one," slapping Drovic on the back. The morning patrons of the tavern, fixated with eating their morning breakfast of cooked wheat, paid the two men no mind. The pub was the social hub of the small community. Many of the village's single men and women would meet for breakfast within the tavern walls to share looks and whispers before the day's work and away from parents' overlooking eyes. A few of the Calvary's happy couples could date the start of their relationship to a shared breakfast. "You should come by my forge the day before the festival; I could bring a shine to that dagger you play with."

"Dammit," Drovic cursed himself, "I have to lock down that nervous twitch." Whenever Drovic became bored or on edge, he would do simple tricks with the dagger at his side. "I am sorry dear Smith, but this dagger never leaves me; it is a source of pride, you might say. Now tell me about these other families." Drovic was almost regretting his statement before he asked. However, if he was going to stay in Calvary, he best knew who the players were. Without thinking, he cradled his dagger, and after running into the storyteller last night, he felt a little on edge.