The storm was coming. Havear was making good time but still, the weather was moving in quick.
“Praise be to Pisano! Let me get back to the abbey before I drown” he said, chuckling to himself. Thunder boomed, lightning streaked across the sky. There hadn’t been a storm like this in 40 years. From somewhere in the woods a wolf howled, startling Havear causing him to misplace his step. He fell down a muddy ravine, spraining his ankle along the way.
“Creator save me” he groaned, standing up and testing his foot. A strange noise got his attention. It was then he spotted a pile of rags hiding under a rock cropping. It was moving. Havear gingerly hobbled over, poking it softly with his staff. It cried back at him. Slowly reaching down, he pulled back the rags to find a pale white face return his gaze.
It was a bright day in Balagarat, the salty sea air blowing in Roz’s face. One could be tricked into thinking this was paradise, then one would remember the reason she was here. Sister Roz was a tough cookie, growing up in the hidden mountain abbey of the Order of the Sanguine Rose, a division of the Church of Pisano dedicated to hunting heretics and abominations of evil in the world. The Order had charged her with the task of hunting the former Father Havear, who had raised her since she was a baby. One could hardly say no but she accepted under extreme protest. That brings us to this day, there had been reports of the father in a particular seaside tavern. It sounded sketchy considering the source, but one must follow the leads she thought as she opened the tavern door.
