Benesant sat discontent on her throne.

She could see everything the sunlight touched, so the underworld was inaccessible to her.

Somehow, though, she knew that the blight had entered the abyss again.

Now she regretted not only incarnating him into her newest world, but reincarnating him in the same world again.

It was a failure of her own imagination that she could not imagine a better prison than a subhuman body.

Now he had brought another demon into the overworld, strengthening its evil and weakening the power of good, even if it was only by a tiny amount.

The abyss wasn't like the celestial realm in which she resided. It housed immaterial beings, yes, but it overlapped with the material world. It allowed creatures of much lower power than a god to communicate and make deals with mortals.

Benesant rapped her fingers against her white throne in frustration. The forces of evil seemingly had all the advantages in this world.

She could have acted sooner, but she had seen the future of another world, and had let her plans be consumed by the opportunity of that singular outcome.

It was too late now too regret her inaction. The opportunity had come.

-

When a soul that had been bound to her divine essence escaped its mortal vessel, it appeared in her domain. But dazed.

The follower that had given her life in the name of Benesant slowly returned to consciousness in front of her.

"Sanadora. Rise."

"My goddess." The woman immediately bowed before her.

"I said 'Rise', Sanadora."

"Yes, my goddess."

Although she had not had the time for her body to mature in her last life, she now stood in the celestial realm as a grown woman. Long red hair and a combat scarred body.

It was the form her soul recognized.

"Our mission in the world of Cradle is fraught with difficulty, my goddess." she said, "the more we battle corruption, the more we turn the powers that be against ourselves. My body was destroyed, not by an evildoer... but by a peacekeeper. I do not understand it."

"I see. But Cradle is behind you now. My next task for you is to return to Lite."

"You do not wish to hear my report on your holy mission in Cra-?"

"I can see perfectly well in the worlds you visit Sanadora, I do not need to hear your opinion on them. This concerns the blight you have eradicated on Cradle, it has once again become a source of corruption. This time in your home world."

The goddess summoned a vision of Scratch, and the dungeon that had grown underneath the Promise.

"The leader of the syndicate? H-how? How did he enter the world of Lite?"

Suddenly the goddess' face grew incensed, "he is in an as harmless place as was possible to place him. I assure you that. Know better than to question your goddess Sanadora." she said defensively.

"I- understand. But, what power does he possess to bring this about in a manner of days?"

Benesant dismissed the image. "It has not been mere days. Time in the world of Cradle, it would seem, moves at a decelerated pace compared to the other worlds. Centuries have passed since you have last left Lite, and 7 years have passed since you have cleansed the syndicate leader and he became an old soul."

"Inconceivable... Then the others..." Including Sanadora, three of the five old souls that had come to Cradle were originally from Lite.

"Normally, I would not consider returning you to your previous world to flaunt your reincarnation as a miracle of immortality." Benesant said. "But since so much time has passed, and your name has faded into history, I consider it acceptable to return you. To fight this enemy once again."

"Yes my goddess." Sanadora bowed, then she scrunched up her face, "however..."

"Yes? Out with it."

"If the enemy has stolen access to the celestial eternity then my spell..."

"I shall divinely inspire in you a new spell, as I have done before. One with the power you know, but that can also hurt the body of an old soul."

"Thank you! My goddess!"

"Don't mention it. Now then... it's time we find you a body."

Sanadora exited her bow, finally. "Yes my goddess. As long as I live in your service, worldly prestige matters not. Even a peasant birth will suit me."

Benesant was wading through the unknowable threads of fate, and not looking at Sanadora directly. "A peasant body will not suit you, Sanadora. When you first became my servant I granted you strength beyond strength, I'm sure you remember. A body is nothing more or less than an expression of the soul's features. For you to be born in Lite, a child must be conceived with your essential features. Let's see..."

"Have my essential features not changed before?" Sanadora asked as politely as she could. She walked around the goddess, trying to catch a glimpse of what she was searching through. But the visions remained invisible to the mortal. "Surely as an elf-"

"Your race is not of importance. Your affinity to fire magic is, as is the divine potential I have granted you- Ah, there we go."

"So when will I-"

-

"Master, master, come quickly! Your daughter has been born!"

The leader of the windswept warriors quickly rushed towards the maternity hut and pushed away the midwife.

"Darling! Look!" His wife said, "she has your eyes!"

"And she already has your red hair." He said lovingly.

"Father," the child said, "I must cleanse this world of corruption."

"Aaaaah!"

"Yes! Guys! I've got their banner!" One of the adventurers cheered as he ran towards his party members.

"Tim, you ape! What'd you do that for? Now they'll come after us with all their might!"

Kayla was annoyed, they had agreed that she was the leader. But nobody was following any sort of chain of command.

"Aw! But the quest board said wild goblin banners are worth 3 gold."

"Really? Three gold!?"

Her mood immediately changed, 3 gold was the same as 30 silver. More than their haul in culling rewards so far.

She snatched it out of his hands.

"Hey!"

"It should go into the communal loot sack. We agreed that we'd split the awards equally, didn't we?"

She stared greedily at the piece of cloth. If adventuring was this profitable every week, they should definitely make it their career.

"Incoming!" Their ranger announced.

Too late, as a pebble from a sling hit her harshly in the side.

"Agh! They're coming for the banner!" Kayla screamed.

"There's almost thirty of them! Let's retreat through the river to break them up."

"Hey!" She said, "I'm the leader, I give the orders."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"... Okay let's cut through the river."

-

It wasn't that hard to defeat the goblins that had come after them.

In fact, it was harder making sure other adventurers didn't get them first.

It all led to a nice haul and a satisfying conclusion to the adventure. "But," Kayla stated, "I'm still mad you went and did that by yourself."

"So what're you guys doing with your share?" Tim asked.

"First we're putting aside a party pot, for weapon upgrades and potions and stuff." Kayla said, as that had been the advice her older sister had given her.

"I'm sending mine home." He said, "so we can finally put a quest on the quest board for getting rid of the giant rats."

"But still, how much is that per person?" The ranger asked, "got to be a few hundred copper each.

"If only we had the culling every week, we'd be rich~" Tim sighed.

"I don't think the baronet could afford that." the ranger laughed.

Kayla was silent for a second. "It's kinda crazy, isn't it? That a goblin is paying us to do goblin extermination?"

"The baronet is day goblin though, isn't he?"

"I suppose... but aren't these day goblins we're killing as well? I mean, they don't have scabs and pustules or anything either. And they've got their own matriarchs and banners... I think these are just rival tribes."

"Is that... bad?" Tim asked.

"Of course not. I mean we're not breaking any laws."

"No, but- Well I mean we're sure that the baronet is on the side of justice, aren't we?"

"That question opens up a can of worms," the ranger said, "as adventurers we may legally dispense violence outside town borders in the name of the guild. The guild is a supranational organization, but the legal framework it operates under is that of the kingdom. Ultimately, as monarchists, we must rely on the judgment of our nobility to ensure the moral, ethical, and spiritual rule of law. However, that does not absolve us from critical thought regarding our own role in upholding that rule of law, and the possibility of serving an evil regime."

Tim blinked, "sorry, what was your name again?"

"Well if the choice is between critically absolving the rule of law or whatever and striking up these quest rewards, I'm choosing the money." Kayla said, and the majority agreed with her.

That was the only time the legitimacy of Promise cullings was ever questioned among adventurers. As Scratch would have approvingly concluded, it was more profitable not to question things.

Maüriel looked on as the adventurers crowded past the caravan, chasing down the last vestiges of panicked rebels.

"The surface world showeth such brutality." He remarked.

His brother laughed, "does it not? It means we are finally adults, to be among the carnage. Thy knoweth as I do that all the good books doth show war maketh men out of boys."

"But we art naught warriors, Sylbor," Maüriel responded genuinely, "surely thy will find no valor amongst the spinach and lettuce seedlings."

"You'll find no pay if you don't hurry the hell up," the local broodmother grumbled.

They were out in the unfavored territory. Broodmothers were less nice here.

"Hath no worry, auntie," Sylbor said sweetly, as he jumped off the wagon holding a tray of pods "the plants shall sleep in the dirt long before the weather can bite them."

"I'm not afraid they'll die, you savage. I just have better things to do than watch you all day."

"Good. 'Cause we require no watching, you canst be on your way." Sylbor suggested.

"I bet you'd like that," the woman harrumphed, "but I payed for eight hundred crops, I'ma get eight hundred crops. I'll be here counting them."

Sylbor shot Maüriel a glance of shared exasperation.

But Maüriel could not share in his frustration. He was impressed by the woman.

This was only the second time he was on the surface. Well... the first time really on the real surface, outside the Promise.

Everybody here spoke sophisticated like Papa Scratch did.

Maüriel was aware of how his speech patterns had grown after his mother's. His mother was a kept woman.

This woman was free. Sophisticated. In charge of her fate.

"I payed for eight hundred crops, I'ma get eight hundred crops." He whispered to himself, trying out the accent.

Hearing him talk, Sylbor began to sing. The goblin work song they had been taught since birth.

"That ain't working, that's the way you do it. You get your money for nothing and your chicks for free."

Soon Maüriel joined in and they began to plant the seedlings to the music.

Eight hundred didn't seem so many.

-

Eight hundred was actually very many.

The adventurers were trickling out of the wilds and over the main road towards the Promise before they were halfway.

The sun was starting to set.

"That's 396, you still owe me fourhundred-and-four more!" The overbearing women insisted, she only got half as much work done herself because she made sure to closely monitor theirs.

Sylbor swung around his dibble, it was a long staff with a cone-like thing at the end that they used to plant without having to bend over. It hadn't prevented him from working up a sweat. "Surely thy children require thy attention. A soothing song to lay them to sleep, perhaps."

"Bah. They take care of themselves. They're tending to other fields."

"For what purpose, at any length, doth thou needst such extensive fields?" Maüriel said suddenly. "Surely, these are more than can fill thy mouths. And the mouths of three colonies hence."

"Hah! As long as Scratch keeps paying for whatever I produce, I keep making it." She said proudly while removing a root from the tilled earth, "that runt wants to spend his paper on a huge mountain of leftover food? Be my guest. I'll be exchanging it for real gold." She had a sudden realization. "Don't you two bloody well tell him that."

It was illegal for the protected bandit woman of the barony to own gold. They would exchange goods and services for Promise issued paper tokens.

As long as underhanded token exchange was officially a secret, they were willing to turn a blind eye.

Sylbor continued with his work, but Maüriel paused for a moment longer. "Doth father be... uh- stupid with smart people?"

"Being taken advantage of." Sylbor said, not stopping.

"Huh?"

"When one lets another use one as a tool it's 'being taken advantage of'. That is what the adventurers are, so sayeth elder sister Ada. And nay, father is never taken advantage of. Father is father."

The woman rolled her eyes and continued working ahead of them.

"Of course, I wouldst never claim that father is stupid. Just that perhaps, out of kindness-"

"I shallst tell thee what father hadst told me." Sylbor said sternly. "So thy may see the wisdom of the uneaten leaves; When there is more of an item than there is a need for, the sellers must compete to sell them for ever-lower prices. And when there is less of an item than there is a need for, the buyers competeth to buy them for ever higher prices. Dost the simple truth of this fact show itself to thee?"

"Aye brother, it doth." Maüriel picked up the next seedling tray to not be standing idly by. "But how this simple truth produceth these efforts..."

"Indeed, for I have not concluded. If papa Scratch were to buy these items, with no limit, to a certain price, how wouldst thou say this competition between sellers is affected."

"So... they wouldst compete more- no, less. Buyers wouldst not lower their prices below the certain price. Once the need is that slight, the broodmothers wouldst sell to the Promise instead."

"Indeed, and for that; our father hath named this police a 'price floor'. As one can nae sink lower than the floor. Now even the broodmothers who do not test his generosity benefit from this floor, as the simple farms they maintaineth for their flock willst always produce enough money for next year's shizzo and elemental nature to power the farmland."

Maüriel nodded, he had stopped working again to absorb the information. "I doth see the wisdom... however I must object."

"Ah. Why?"

"The price never sinketh, then the production never shrinketh and only increaseth. More and more of our money is given to ever larger farms. Surely, it wouldst be wiser to simply provide the seeds the mothers need. There wouldst be less costs and less... waste."

Sylbor tapped his dibble on the ground and thought for a moment, sure there had to be a reason why Scratch's way was the wisest. "No..." he said, picking up momentum as he went along, "... for not all colonies groweth their own food. Thy knows how the stone quarry and woodcarving homes haveth not the fertile dirt and spare goblins to farm and sell their crops. The Promise wouldst then decide for the colonies which farm needed to produce how much and which should sell how much to which. That is to say, we wouldst have to decide, and we wouldst have to inspect every field and count every head all throughout the year."

He concluded, proud of himself.

"I see-eth now," Maüriel nodded, ashamed of his own lack of faith, "I suppo-"

"And we wouldst still be wrong." Sylbor suddenly started up again, making another realization, "broodmothers hath been wrong every year about the size of their flock the next season. Thy says the price floor will always produce more than there is need, and thou art correct. This is by design! The need is ever-growing you see, and todays rations might be only just enough to fill tomorrow's mouths. Or anyway... it couldst be, and we produce just enough for the worst scenario."

"Are you trying to wait me out!? What's taking so long!?" The woman said sternly, but then she softened. "I'm also just trying to make a living. You know, this isn't the life I'd have chosen for myself."

Maüriel sighed. "I'd much rather we wage ware against traitors and the outsiders wouldst be paid to move caravans."

"Mhm." Sylbor concurred.

"You're not the first farmboys to fantasize about being adventurers," the broodmother said, "I remember when I was a young girl I'd used to dream about raiding dungeons for treasure."

"Trea-sure?"

"My boy," she said resolutely, now pausing her work herself, "let me tell you about treasure..."

A dark sorcerer's library was his treasure.

The secret tomes and sigils contained therein formed the basis of his power, and they had to be guarded from rivals looking to expand their own.

Knowledge was power after all, and power shared was a lost advantage.

The Ravenous Lich had bound his books with undead bones, so that they'd come alive and attack would-be thieves.

And not for nothing, as many an infiltrator and faux-collegue had come looking to steal the secrets of immortal lichdom.

Noss' Fleder's collection of spells was not nearly as sought after, but he diligently protected them anyway. With a lock on the see-through door to his shelves, and a poisonous scorpion within the case. (He had declined letting the kishin's mimic inhabit his properties.)

When Lacrima let her gaze fall over the interior of his subterranean hole she felt, for the first time, the thirst dark sorcerers have for each other's secrets.

As a witch it had long been her duty to prevent the proliferation of dark sorcery, and to make sure its practices would not spread. But now the goddess of magic had taken a more lenient stance on her, if not wielding, then at least benefiting from ungodly magic.

"Put on some light in here dearie, I can hardly see a thing," she said with her eyes directly fixated on the scorpion.

She wrested her eyes loose. There was a more obtainable treasure in front of her.

"Candlelight!" Noss proclaimed.

-

The light of the spell casted shadows onto the unpolished natural rock boundaries to the vampire's layer.

The furniture had been moved aside to make place for the tin plated vat filling up the space.

It gleamed in the magical flicker. As tall as a man and patterned with valves, gauges, and pipes that snaked over cave's inside surface like roots.

"Does the Baronet know about this?" She asked.

"Ve have not discussed it," Noss said, leaving unsaid how the elaborate machine could hardly have gone unnoticed.

Lacrima nodded. "Just as well. It isn't his business."

The witch has established the dungeon as her stronghold in exile, but she did not truly feel in control. Years of having to go through Scratch to get anything done, countless tiny indignities, had created a sense of powerlessness that she couldn't put into words.

Only the Great Work gave her reprieve, and so she pursued it with all the zest of her youth. Pulling the vampiric dark sorcerer along.

"Vill Alpheba not be present for zhe experiment?" He asked while adjusting the valves.

"She can be of no use to me here. Continue."

"I see... Zhen I vill now activate zhe flow of elements."

The pipes whirred and churned, collecting the magical immaterials of fire, water, death, and various other elemental energies into the tank.

Through the glass a pixie was visible, trapped in a small cage and cowed by the violent energies clashing around her.

Lacrima looked on unimpressed, "another elemental weapon? We have both outgrown the search for additional means of destruction, I should think."

Noss shook his head, "zhis chamber contains controlled elements, not for destruction but for... I vill show you. Please repeat zhe transformation zhat you showed me zhe other day. Remake zhe fairy girl."

"Hhm..." She raised her hand and cast her spell.

The pixie's scared expression changed and became monstrous, as she transformed from a diminutive woman into a large insect.

"Haha!" He grabbed a lever and pulled it down.

As soon as the mechanism clicked, the elements rushed together and the inner chamber filled with light.

"Transformation spells provided by nature and zhe gods vill change zhe form of a creature, but return zhem to zheir previous forms afterwards. As my master taught me, a sorcerer vill not simply accept zuch limitations! I have studied your transformations, and as it happens, zhe reversal can not be removed zo easily from existing patterns. Zherefore, I have developed zhis method of freezing zhe matter in place. You see, zhe elements make and remake zhe body of zhe insect, so zhat it can not change back to its previous form." He gestured proudly as the machine. "Vith zhis method, ve should be able to change your body to zhat of a fairy queen permanently."

As a spoke, the insect began to thrash around in panic and pain. When, suddenly, it exploded.

Dark red blood splattered the inside of the glass pane.

"Vhat!?" Noss quickly turned off the machine.

"Fleder, you fool. It really is a dark sorcerer's way to mess with magic he does not understand." She groaned.

The vampire opened up the vat and put on a glove to retrieve the cage, but the subject had completely liquified.

"The true form of any creature never goes away," the witch explained, "a transformation spell does not replace it. It overrides it temporarily. Do you understand? When the spell ends the true form becomes the only form once again, you are not preserving the body of a centipede but ripping apart the body of a pixie."

"I... I don't understand."

"If you are going to make changes to the goddess' perfect spells, at least do it like this... here."

She grabbed a nearby paper scroll and turned it over so she could draw a magical circle on its back.

"What I need is a self-sustaining spell that will maintain the false form on my body, akin to a curse, but that does not drain my own mana. See? This is the false form, it is captured from the celestial realm." She pointed out the different elements to the spell as she sketched it out. "So our limiting factor is mobile mana access."

"Zhat is... inspired." Noss gasped, "I shall retrieve my magical notes. Please continue helping me develop zhe incantation."

"I'll... give some notes. But as a witch I of course can not stain my hands with dark sorcery."

"...Ofcourse."

Flugelplatz castle was abuzz with the murmur and clinking glass of professional socialites.

With the cleaving of the mountain in the battle of swordmasters fifteen years ago, the position of the castle no longer provided any sort of tactical advantage, so it stood abandoned for most of the year.

But once a year, in the second week of May, the silence was broken. And Flugelplatz could once again bask in the joyous sibilations of lesser mobility.

Count Bruch stood in his private quarters, preening in the mirror again. He knew that as soon as he joined the party, that joyful atmosphere would harshen.

His arrival would mark the start of the game of whispers. That awful time when the negotiations hadn't officially started, but every lobbyist and commander would try to get a word in, strategically positioning themselves and others for the optimal head start once they had.

Perhaps this bowtie wasn't yet completely straight.

The hands in the mirror moved up to the collar, and then stretched their fingers wide.

He looked down at his hands which were doing no such thing, and before he knew it the hands had come out of the mirror and wrapped around his neck.

Bruch gasped. He wasn't a fighter, never had been, neither of his parents were adventurers married into nobility, and his familie's territory wasn't anywhere near the border. The Bruchs had always served their king through diplomacy, not combat.

But even he knew that once an assassin gets access to your neck, the fight is usually over.

He tried to breathe, but couldn't.

Forcing him to the ground was his mirror image, a doppelgänger.

He balled his fist and struck the enemy in the face.

Despite his lack of training, his superior bloodline provided him superior strength, and his punch could crush a peasant skull rather easily.

A powerful bang reverbarated through the room.

But what he was striking was not a true skull, and contained none of the vital organs a human head did.

The neck of the demon had been twisted to face fully backwards, and it slowly turned back with a wicked grin.

The count screamed soundlessly, his throat still clamed shut by the demon's powerful grip.

"You must be honorable Count Wolfgang Bruch," it snickered, "the baronet's number one preferred target. Most excellent! Don't worry about the summit... I'll attend it for you. Hahaha!"

The count was turning blue in the face, but he still wouldn't give up the struggle.

"Why won't you... die!" The demon thrashed him against the carpeting.

They continued to roll over each other for a good few minutes.

Eventually, a maid came to knock on the door. "Lord Bruch? Are you there?"

A somewhat ruffled looking count opened the door, but not fully. "Yes. I will be- vill be right out. Can't let zhe guests vaiting!" He strained his hair and bowtie. "Don't go into zhis room."

-

The doppelgänger made his way downstairs, towards the main hall where the guests were gathered.

Slowly the memories of Wolfgang were seeping into his head. He would need them to pose as the man.

The muscle memory had already appeared when a woman in ball gown appeared in front of him. He bowed slightly and fiddled with his hands just as the count had always done.

"Oh Wolfgang, you're here!" She said sweetly, "you just have to come save me. These younger baronesses are just an absolute bore."

"Sorry to keep you vaiting... miss Fern." Wolfgang had despised Fern for being much too familiar towards him. Rather presumptuous for the fifth daughter of a baronet, of a foreign nation no less, to think she could cosy up to a count. But for the doppelgänger she would be a valuable asset tonight. "Lead zhe vay. I vill fend off zhe bores, if you vill save me from lady Munster's match-making efforts."

He took her arm.

His mission from Scratch was to sabotage the diplomatic mission for peace, but he couldn't simply behave as an oaf. If he were to start a fight, he likely would not be able to escape the castle at the end of the night to join his true preferred demon king candidate. If he were to act too out of character, his nature as a doppelgänger would be exposed and the mission would fail.

So subtlety was the name of the game. Keeping to social norms as the real count would have.

And keeping miss Fern with him to instigate all conversations, so that he had time to rake up the relevant memories.

As they joined the main body of people, he eyed the guards at the halls many surrounding doors.

They were mid-level adventurers, hired for the occasion by the herzog but dressed in the strict military outfits of the staatspolizei, complete with red armbands.

These people had had a lifetime of training spotting imposters and subversive elements.

Still, there would be no problem if he kept to his script.

"Count Bruch." A decorated man came up to him.

"How are you, Schmetter?" Fern said, eager to be acknowledged. "Wolfgang and I were just discussing the provisions of the agreement. I am sure I can convince my own duke to-"

"Count Bruch." Johan Schmetter said, "your buttons are on backvards."

The doppelgänger tensed up.

His appearance was the mirror image of count Bruch.

The mirror image.

Guards were already being gestured to approach.

"Vell spotted Johan. It seems zhat nobody else has passed zhe test so far. I-"

A sudden gust of wind knocked him onto the ground. Count Schmetterling's magic.

"Brand of Light!" One of the guards exclaimed.

The magical attack was low-level, but it made a sizzling impact when it hit the doppelgänger's cheek. Confirming the suspicion that was a demon.

The doppelgänger hissed.

Count Schmetterling drew his rapier and stabbed it clean through his head.

Holy magic began to emanate from the weapon and dissolve the demon's body from the inside out.

A scream could be heard from upstairs, and a maid came running into the hall. "Count Bruch! Count Bruch's body! He is dead!"

The demon tried to scrable to his feet, but now lacked the strength to even make a sound.

Schmetterling pointed his weapon at Fern.

"I swear, I didn't know!" she exclaimed in a panic.

"Count Bruch vas one of zhe loudest opponents to zhe armstice vith your country." Schmetterling spat, "who vould benefit from taking out zhe biggest proponent for the war?"

"Zhe Reddington elite is rotten!" One of the attendees yelled, "zhey're summoning demons meant to deceive us!"

Fern's own Baroness stood in front of her. "This is not our doing."

Already, nobles from the different countries were splitting into two crowds, on either side of the conflict.

Schmetterling sheathed his weapon. "I do not have zhe authority to pass judgement on you in zhis moment. But I know... zhat I vill have my justice."

"Justice... how is that?"

"Because I vill have VAR!!" He screamed the last part, and his countrymen jeered.

The baroness scrunged up her face. This was the worst peace summit she had ever taken part in.

-

Meanwhile, the demon dying on the floor had a very similar feeling regarding the whole situation.

The last of Wolfgang's memories confirmed that he had indeed come there to argue for the war, not against it.

If that were the case, replacing him would have offered no benefit for Scratch, who needed the war to start up again.

Unless... the demon grinned in his final moments... unless the baronet had known he would fail, and in fact counted on it. Unless he had specifically told him to target Wolfgang Bruch so that it would seem peace was a demonic plot.

"Diabolical." He said silently.

Then he shattered.

Special Request: Guarding the Flugelplatz Summit

To: the Band of the Sparrow, aka the party of the Edelweiss hero.

Regarding: the security detail at the yearly peace summit in Flugelplatz

Most esteemed adventurer(s),

You are hereby formally requested by the Herzog of Waldermann to take on a defensive mission at Flugelplatz castle during the week from May 6th to May 13th.

For your time and effort you will be rewarded 5 gold pieces for each day attending, as well as the full rewards for each monster slain.

The occasion is the annual the peace summit, the peaceful progression of which is of vital importance for the continued diplomatic relations with other kingdoms.

Possible quarries may include: poltergeists, fairy beasts, bandit assassins, and beastmen.

The parties are asked to search for hidden weapons and poisons, and break up altercations between humans non-lethally, should they occur.

Please be aware that you do not have the right to refuse this mission. Those unable to participate must send word one month in advance.

Signed,

Herzog Adel Waldermann