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In the fallen town of Meadowmere…
Jean Pierre sat at a table nursing a room temperature ale. The hallowed voices in his head playing back the answers to his many quandary. The prisoner, Kelora, had used her gifts of foresight on him, he’d not known what to expect and the ability shook him to his core. Even though his questions were answered, he was left with even more unsaid. In this, he felt a stranger to his banner.
One of the lot that came with him to Meadowmere, fancy themselves as a bard. They were sitting in an adjacent corner, strumming and coming up with unfavorable lyrics to Jean’s ears. Something about “Bruzog the blue turned red” and “coin left on the floor in a rush to the door”. If only they knew what it took to fight for the well-being of others. Bruzog was a hero to his people, and Jean felt guilty now for what had taken place. In his heart he knew he was in the wrong being there. In his heart, he knew he had to make things right.
He left the warm ale on the table in a search for answers. As he left, the bards lute broke a string.
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