The day was nigh. The County of Hammen had lost the good Lord Harkess near three turns of Luna anon. Fitting, perhaps, that with the nearing of Growfest and the following month of Planting, the new Lord Harkess, Sir Kerith (a name alluding valor in the old Suel) should return home.<br/><br/>Left to his quests as the old count’s younger son, his older brother fell at the gates of the royal palace throwing down the pretender Sewarndt and the eldest brother succumbed to wounds suffered in the same battle last summer. Thus the call went to find Sir Kerith.<br/><br/>To hear the bards, such a quest would not be easy. Sir Kerith has traveled the breadth of the Flanaess bringing the unerring light of Pholtus to the benighted. Whether rescuing merchants from certain perversion and ignoble death at the hands of humanoid raiders of the Pomarj or leading the charge on the Critwall plain to retake the city from the Old One, seemings score of tales are told praising his valor and conviction. But with tales comes a restless spirit to inspire them.<br/><br/>Finally he was found, near fair Veluna to the west, his latest conquest exposing the tyranny of the Markiza Ludmilla and casting down her and her demon-spawn son. That Ravenna be free of her dark reign! And it seems, he had finally found his calling, taking the markiza’s niece and heir to wife to ensure just rule should forever held sway in the Vale of Ravens.<br/><br/>But as is duty, Sir Kerith must come home to and take his father’s place. Setting his own affairs of state to conservatory, he nears Hammensend, the port of the county on the the Nyr Dyv, the lake of unknown depths. Soon, the count will be called home. Soon.<br/><br/><br/>In his stead, the duty of rule has fallen to his young sister, the Lady Victoriana. Weary of her day settling disputes ‘twixt merchants over the value of hens to wool or the balance sheets of the ratcatchers’ wages, she gazes over the town a mile away from the great windows of the now empty audience chamber.<br/><br/>“M’lady,” she hears and spies the horseman kneeling, dust of the road still clinging to his boots and livery. “He comes, m’lady, half a day from port.”<br/>