<em>It is the close of the 21st Aeon.  The sun, swollen and red and spotty like an overripe pomegranate, shall doubtlessly blink out any day now.  For now, we lay our scene outside the pleasant and usually sleepy little town of Cuirnif, a jewel nestled among the bucolic brocade of farmland belonging to the generous and amiable Duke Orbal.  On the very outskirts of the town, on the eve of a most fortuitous event, two unfortunates chance to meet...each with his own tale of woe to tell!</em><br/><br/>The mousy little man with the scrolls peers over the top of his writing desk at the two men before him, having been 'encouraged' to present themselves by well-armed serjeants in the Duke's service.  Beside him, the two large guards grin at the current audience of two.<br/><br/>"And what," the scribe says with a bored, nasally whine, "do you have to say for yourselves?  One at a time, please, else I may lose patience and submit you to the Duke's attentions.  He himself being so busy with the festival preparations, he shall doubtless prove efficient rather than merciful."<br/><br/>He points to one unfortunate.<br/><br/>"You first.  How have you come to this unfortunate pass?"