<div align="center">(http://th00.deviantart.net/fs71/PRE/i/2010/357/9/6/on_the_ferry_by_inessentialstuff-d35isyy.jpg)</div><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 20pt;"><strong>F</strong></span><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 16pt;">our years.  Four long, bloody years at war, against the tribes of the North eager to plunder and loot their way south into the rich heart of the kingdom.  The Silent Desert had not been silent during these times, echoing with the clash of steel, the thunder of horse hooves, and the lamentations of the wounded and dying.  All that was over now, at least for the band aboard the small ferry, slowly making its way across the inland sea, heading past the simmering flows of molten rock that marks the end of the Flaming Grounds.<br/><br/>You are all House Carls, eager to return from the bloody campaign that has cost so many their lives.  The tribes of the north, butchered man, woman and child, until they were no more.  The fields of the dead, the only movements being those unlucky enough to retrieve items of value, and the carrion birds that dined well on the livers and spleens of those whose lives had ended by the blade of a tribal axe.  Hopefully, on the road to the capital at Amaldan, you can rest and put behind you the terrible visages of war.  <br/><br/>It is a late hour when the ferry arrives, making dock in one of the fishing towns along the coast of the sea.  It has changed dramatically since you first went to war, a small village with nothing to offer upon your departure, now boasts numerous establishments for the soldiers parading through on their way to war and upon their triumphant return.  Brothels and Inns line the main avenue through the town, whores in tight fighting and very revealing outfits stand on the edges of the street, attempting to entice anyone passing by for a quick romp to ease their tensions.<br/><br/>At this late hour, it would seem the only Inn with rooms still available would be that owned by a posh gentleman who sat on the balcony above the Inn's front porch, watching with contempt the men sent to war while he profited.  A young man on the porch was busy calling, "Rooms!  We got rooms!  Only place left in town with rooms!"  The other inns lacked such criers, though they still had plenty of young men and women marching in and out through the double doors, left open.  From inside nearly every inn, the sound of laughing, music and merriment could be heard, along with the enticing smells of beer, food and sex.</span>