text: The Yellow Dog Tavern A morning like any other. That’s how Erik always begins this story. The sound of roosters signal the start of a new day. The smell of morning dew and and smoldering embers fill the room behind the Yellow Dog Tavern. With a stretch and a yawn tavern keeper Erick Addler rouses himself and starts his morning routine. He washes the sleep from his face with the brisk water from the basin by the now open window. First thing’s first, get the fire started in the large hearth at the back of the taver and begin brewing the day’s first coffee. Erick preferred his coffee with a healthy dose of fresh milk and sugar, just like his mother used to make. Once the coffee finishes, he breaks his fast with a hot plate of eggs and sausage. With a full stomach and the morning stiffness warmed from his bones it was finally time to get to work, starting with chopping wood. People come to taverns to end their day in comfort and good company and this far north even in the summer you need a fire to stop you from freezing let alone be comfortable. After a couple hours of chopping enough wood to last through the day and into the night, it was time to start the kitchen fire and bring up the casks from the cellar. Erick always kept his finer drinks in the cellar not just because the cellar kept them nice and cool, but also because the cellar has only one way in and out and it always stays locked. Brightwood, named after the large brightwood tree at it’s center, is a small hamlet and none of the denizens would ever even think about robbing the Yellow Dog. However Brightwood also sits directly on the main road leading from the far north straight to the capital farther South which means The Yellow Dog sees more than its fair share of travelers. Once the preparations were done and the food was nearly ready, the day’s first patrons walked through the door at noon and were greeted by the smell of wood smoke, cooking meat, and Erick’s warm, welcoming, smile. A group of four, they were unfamiliar to Erick, a tan skinned older man slightly grizzled with a cropped beard and well kempt hair. Two younger men probably in their early twenties both clean shaven, if shaven at all, one with the sides of his head shaven and a short patch of hair on top, the other with shoulder length hair loosely pulled back in a half ponytail. And a young woman, also early twenties with her hair cut short and a short pink fresh scar under her right cheek. All four armed and lightly armored, but bearing no banners or coat of arms, clearly mercenaries. It was fairly common for mercenaries to pass through Brightwood on their way to the capital in search of work. Erick greeted them with “Welcome to the Yellow Dog, we got a pig on the spit and nice cool ale fresh from the cellar. Find a seat by the fire and give me a shout when you’re ready. Name’s Erick”. “‘Preciate it Erick” the older man said with a rough voice as he sat at a table near the fire and pulled out a short, well worn, pipe. They ordered a round of ale and four plates of the pork to start. As the day went on people came and went, some regulars but mostly travelers during the day. The regulars didn’t really start to pour in till the sun started to set and the day’s work was done. Erick loved that part of the day. He loved seeing his friends and helping them enjoy a well deserved break at the end of their long and strenuous days. Erick also enjoyed the fact that he had recently found that the Yellow Dog was making enough money to hire someone to help serve drinks and cook during the later, busier hours. This meant that Erick could now spend most of his nights drinking and talking with the people he had known and loved since he was a small child. Today, however, was different. His friends wouldn’t stop by the Dog tonight. Just a few hours after the first patrons of the day walked through the door Erick heard something he would go on to describe as “It sounded like the sky itself had been smashed asunder.” Everyone ran outside and looked around till they saw the southern sky. A purple green pulsing light filled the sky above what Erick knew in his heart to be the capital, despite it being a three day ride away at least. Immediate panic filled Brightwood. What was that noise? What was that column of light pulsing in the sky? Was it truly the capital, and if so is everyone alright? Is anyone alright? Erick felt compelled to go to the capital and see for himself, but Erick was a tavern keeper not a fighter. Brightwood wasn’t exactly known for its military might. They had a town guard, of course, but now didn’t seem like the best time to leave the guard short handed. “The mercenaries!” Erick thought. “I could hire the mercenaries to go to the capital and relay whatever news they can find.”. “You lot, you’re all mercenaries, yes?” “Aye, what of it?” replied the girl. “How much would it cost for you to ride to the capital and bring back work of what happened?” “Sounds easy enough.... 40 silver. 20 now and 20 upon our return.” said the older man. “I suppose I don’t have many options, 40 is fair.” Erick reached into his coin purse and produced the 20 silver. “Hurry if you can.” “We’ll leave now.”. Erick watched as the mercenaries mounted their horses and rode hard South toward the lights in the sky. Erick never did see them again. But, regardless, Brightwood soon learned what happened that evening when the sky was torn open.