Chirros are small songbirds which inhabit the Hinterlands and some surrounding forests. Their only exceptional traits are their beautifully clear song, and their ability to inhabit the forests of Calkus during every season, even in the harshest of winters. Chirros have long been considered a blessed bird, tiny winged messengers of one of the five faces of God; the face of the birthgiver, symbol of the growth and fertility which characterises the Hinterlands. 'Personally, I find them to be a blessed pain in the arse. How is a traveller meant to sleep through that incessant chirping? You would think a God, particularly one with five faces, would know better.'

Ripped page from Calkus Religion by Ivus Selenas; blasphemous annotations scrawled in the hand of Scribe Eleius Reinhart.

The chirping of chirros and the lukewarm rays of morning sunlight woke Eleius from his shallow slumber. He cursed the little songbirds as he stretched his aching back muscles; the hard ground of a forest couldn't compare to the feather bed he had enjoyed in Narcys. He felt another stab of guilt at the thought of leaving his mother to her grief. Useless to think about that now, he thought, failing to convince himself. Listar is far better equipped to deal with it anyway. I was only getting in the way. He gathered up his gear and slung his travel sack over his shoulder. After finding his bearings, he pushed through the leafy growth and found his way to the road. The daylight allowed him a better understanding of his progress. He had managed to hitch a ride on a merchant carriage from Narcys, which took him three days along his journey, as far as the port town of Milis. From there he had struck inland. Judging by the blurred shapes of mountains in the distance, he had about two more days of walking to reach Tresil, the thoroughfare town. If he was going to find interesting people to follow for another story, it would be in Tresil. It was situated on a major crossroads between Narcys, the Northern Peaks, the swamp city Gielis and the Eastern Docks. Due to its prominent location, it attracted all sorts of deviants, adventurers and pilgrims. But first, he thought, I have a lot of walking ahead of me. He began to walk, halted, and rooted around in his travel sack. With a smirk, he withdrew a bottle of Headsplitter Ale.

"One for the road," he declared. "Thank you, Relek!" He unclipped the cap and continued his journey.

Two days later, an exhausted Eleius arrived at the outskirts of Tresil. He approached the two guards at the gate.

"Evening, gentlemen!"

"Evening. What are you, then? Another beggar?"

Eleius chuckled. "Do I sound like a beggar?"

"Hrmm. You don't, at that. You from Narcys?"

"Indeed. I'm just passing through. Any rooms spare at the inns?"

The second guard, a smaller, stockier man, stepped uncomfortably close to Eleius.

"Do we look like fucking innkeepers, traveller?" he spat the last word out, as if merely saying it left a sour taste in his mouth.

"No, more's the pity. Are you going to let me in?" Eleius was pleased to see a vein throbbing in the guard's neck. He was barely able to suppress his laughter.

"Of course, sir," the other guard replied, opening the gate. "Don't mind him, he's had a rough couple of weeks."

"Not a problem. I hope things improve."

Eleius strode through the gate, listening to the taller guard chastise his stocky companion. He could only make out the phrase "fucking cultists." Curious, Eleius thought, Rumours and more rumours. Might be worth looking into. He wound through the hive of dirt paths, ignoring insistent beggars, painted whores and rock dealers along the way. Tresil was only beginning to show its true colours as the sun slowly turned its back on the town. Despite its relatively small size, Tresil never slept. Eleius had eight silver peaks left. He could afford any inn, but decided it was best to go for the seediest inn in town. He had learned, from his vast experience of drinking with malcontents, that they always had access to the juiciest rumours. Even better, they didn't have the prudish noble streak that stopped so many people from passing on those rumours. Eleius followed the strings of lanterns that lined the main street. They rocked softly in the evening breeze, spilling their light across the path. After recognising the dilapidated exterior, Eleius pushed open The Grey Mantle's scarred wooden door and surveyed the room. The familiar stench of sawdust and hops nipped at his nostrils. He saw few faces he recognised, but saw all of the correct signs: scars, scowls and unrestrained laughter. As he wandered casually towards the bar, he listened to snippets of conversation, hoping to find the right one to join.

"...anyway, next time ah see him, he'll be losing a few teeth..." a voice roared. Certainly not that one, he thought, I prefer my dentistry to stay on a less aggressive level.

"...four seconds! We had barely started! Must be a new record, girls." Sounds interesting, but not exactly what I'm after.

"...tried to drag him back home, but he was weird, all glass-eyed. He left in the night..." That'll be the one, then.

Eleius perched on a barstool and leaned on the bar. After a few minutes, the innkeep slammed some overflowing tankards onto a tray and shouted for the server. The innkeep acknowledged Eleius with a grunt.

"Busy day?" Eleius asked with a smile.

"Aye, it is at that. Plenty of folk with plenty reasons to drink, and enough coin floating about. What'll it be, stranger?" Eleius was initially disappointed that the man did not recognise him, however he soon realised it was for the best. He had begun his journey into the Glass Tomb from Tresil, and had stayed at this very inn. It was probably best to keep a low profile, just in case any old grudges came out of the tired woodwork.

"Just a mug of ale, I'm sure your recommendation will be fantastic."

The innkeep shot him a questioning look. And I wasn't even being sarcastic that time. Eleius accepted the foaming mug and took a tentative sip. It brought back memories of his last visit to Tresil. The ale was less subtle than the type which was typically sold in Narcys, however it was also far cheaper. The main advantage was that the ale was strong enough to render its taste inconsequential after a couple of mugs. Eleius swivelled around on his stool and studied the group which had been talking about the glassy-eyed runaway. They looked marginally friendlier than the table he had joined in Sinos. How could he get into the conversation? He decided he would do it in traditional Tresil fashion.

The Scribe plucked his tankard from the bar and moved himself and his travel sack towards the table. He approached confidently, with a slightly over-exaggerated swagger.. He nodded to the group, a man and two young women.

"Don't suppose you folks know where a man can find a job round here?" he said, doing his best to imitate the dock workers from Narcys.

"Aye," the man nodded. "This is the place you'll find it, but I haven't heard a whisper tonight."

"Ach well." Eleius nodded, as if this was a common problem for him. "Can I join you folks for a mug? I'm new to these parts."

"Please yourself," the elder woman shrugged. "Not sure you'll find us much fun, mind."

The younger girl, who looked to be in her early teens, remained quiet and stared at the table.

"Something the matter, folks? Maybe something I could help with?"

"Don't see there being much you can do for us, stranger. Our son keeps leaving home. I've dragged him back from the blasted Hinterlands three times now."

"That's a hell of a trip to make three times," Eleius said. "What's so great about the Hinterlands, then?"

"It's a cult," the younger girl whispered, her eyes still lowered to the table.

"Now then, Allie, you need to be careful what you say to strangers. I'm sure he's not interested in our worries," the older girl said firmly.

"Well, I heard whispers of this cult on my way through Sinos as well." Eleius shook his head. "Now that town was full of some of the grumpiest folks I ever seen."

"It's that damn Duke's fault!" the man shouted, banging his fist on the table. His eyes glinted furiously, but Eleius was too shocked to look away. "Now all I got is my daughters, and I'll be damned if he tries to take them away, too!"

"The Duke's involved?" In his shock, he had regressed to his natural, noble accent. The father seemed too angry to notice, but Eleius earned a suspicious look from the elder daughter.

"Think it's time you left, stranger. Pa don't need to be worked up right now."

"Well, it was nice talking to you, folks," he said.

He could feel his face begin to burn; the false accent sounded so obvious when he heard it straight after his usual tones. He returned to the bar and asked the innkeep for a room. After securing a week's stay for two silver peaks, he trudged up the stairs and investigated his new accommodation. The room fit snugly around the single bed, smelled of damp and had no noise insulation from the tavern downstairs. It was an improvement on the cold forest floor. He lay down on the bed fully clothed, grateful for the chance to relax his exhausted leg muscles. He drifted off slowly and unintentionally, while pondering what the Duke could possibly gain from becoming involved with a cult.

Eleius woke late the next day, the screaming ache in his muscles now reduced to an irritating whisper. He got up and stretched in front of the shutterless window. Must be about mid-day, he thought. The hard-working citizens and undesirables milled through the hive of dirt streets and wooden structures, their varying paces reflecting their intentions. He watched as an old man approached a ragged peddler, who was leaning against a wooden support. They clasped hands. It was too smooth for a first meeting. Without a word, the old man melted back into the pulsing throng of people, and the ragged dealer resumed his leaning. I'm amazed he's reached his refined age, Eleius mused. Must be either rock or fire moss. Both drugs cut the user's lifespan significantly, with rock having a slight edge of ten or twenty years. Eleius decided that the old man must have started using recently. Perhaps because he had lost his grandchildren to a cult. Pointless speculation, he smiled. Time to get into it.

Eleius nodded at the bored innkeeper on his way out and was awarded with a half-wave in response. It was the most recognition he had received from the man so far, so Eleius considered it an achievement. He stepped out into the sunlight and wandered along the alley beside the tavern, emerging onto the main track. He glanced involuntarily at the ragged drug peddler as he wandered past. Luckily the peddler didn't register his interest. Eleius wandered along the dirt path as part of the swarm, but unlike the others, his interest was not in reaching a specific location. He scanned the taverns and shaded restaurants for interesting characters. The combined heat of the sun and the crowd would have been overwhelming if not for the insistent wind that tugged at hats and ruffled shirts. Eleius stepped to the side of the road and stopped for a moment. It was hard to think in the press of people. A young man, no older than eighteen, walked towards him. The colour had seeped from his torn robes long ago, leaving them a washed-out shade of grey. The dirt streaks failed to mar the youthful radiance of his face. The wind whipped at the loose strands of his robe, giving him the illusion of flight.

"Afternoon, Scribe Eleius." His accent was difficult to place, yet strangely refined considering his filthy appearance.

"Please, if you're here to needle me about the Glass Tomb, I've heard it all before."

"Not at all, scribe," the youth chuckled. His face muscles were completely relaxed, a strange expression of serenity emanating forth. He stared at Eleius through glassy eyes.

Probably high on fire moss, Eleius thought.

"You might have more luck in that building over there," the youth pointed. "It's the easiest way to the tower."

"Um... ok, thanks," Eleius nodded. Best to get rid of this madman as soon as possible. He walked in the direction that the youth had indicated.

"Oh, and Eleius," he turned to face the youth. "It's best that you leave this town as soon as you return from the tower."

"Is that a threat?"

"No. Simply a warning. Farewell."

With that, the youth floated into the milling crowds, disappearing from sight.

Eleius shoved his way to the edges of the crowd as he approached the structure. A grand wooden building towered proudly over the neighbouring shacks, it's expertly carved pillars complemented by ornate blocks of volcanic rock. It looked as out of place in Tresil as a noble would in The Docker's Tavern. Groups of armoured men and women stood outside, possibly waiting for all of their members to arrive. Eleius studied the wooden board which was mounted on a pillar by the steps leading up to the building. Several sheets of paper were pinned to the board, each bearing a distinctive wax stamp. Raga hunters needed. 30 silver plus hides and teeth for full removal of nest. Eleius thought such a job deserved better pay. Those little bastards could bite through stone, and their teeth were laced with a nasty venom. He scanned more bills detailing odd jobs until he found one that caught his attention. Scholar requiring escort to the ruins of Kela. Will accept groups up to five. 500 silver in total. No looters. Eleius had not heard of the ruins of Kela, however it raised hopes of another Glass Tomb. He climbed the steps and pushed open the double doors. Eleius noticed immediately that this place provided a stark contrast to the drinking establishments he usually frequented. True, the ale was still flowing freely, but that was the only similarity. The wooden floors, support beams and the counter were polished meticulously. Sunlight filtered into the room from an intricate skylight cut into the roof above the 1st floor; the beams bounced off the polished surfaces, enhancing the vision of cleanliness. In place of the rough tavern benches he was used to, there were finely crafted circular tables and wooden chairs, well-spaced throughout the floor area. Several of these tables were occupied by groups of adventurers, discussing plans for upcoming jobs. Eleius waited at the counter until the proprietor appeared from a back room.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he smiled. "Just you today? You here to post a bill?"

"No, actually, I was intrigued by the ruins of Kela on the board out there. Has anyone signed on for it?"

"Yep, that group over there," he gestured towards a group of four hunched around a wooden table in the far corner. "Good luck getting in though. They don't like splitting profits."

"It's not profits I'm after, my good man. Thanks for your help."

Eleius left a few copper signets on the counter. It never hurt to stay on the right side of those who held information. He wandered over to the corner and smiled at the adventurers. The smile was not returned.

"I hear you've signed on for the ruins of Kela," he ventured.

"We don't need a fifth," a gruff voice said sharply. He was a tall man, heavily muscled, with a long, rebellious beard that fit well with his voice. Clearly the leader then, Eleius thought.

"Oh no, you misunderstand. I'm not an adventurer."

"Well, we can tell that just by looking at you," the only woman in the group said, with a smirk. The comic relief, Eleius realised. A longbow leaned against the table beside her. Eleius wondered why the archers were always jokers.

"Indeed. I'm a writer. I'll document your heroic deeds free of charge. Could be a good way to get your name out there."

"We're the Claret Fangs," the leader growled. He bit a piece of dead skin from his finger and spat it onto the ground. "There's few who don't know us."

"Well, I've never heard of you." Eleius smiled. "Maybe you're less well known than you think. I can spread your name and your deeds up and down the continent, from Narcys to the Western Shores."

Eleius just managed to stop himself before he mentioned the Glass Tomb. That story would not help here.

"What's the catch?" The archer eyed him with suspicion.

"No catch, I just want a story to sell. Besides, I've never seen Kela."

"Maybe some ale will help us come to a decision," the leader grunted.

"Of course," Eleius sighed. He heard their discussion about whether to let him join as he walked towards the bar; they didn't bother whispering or lowering their voices. My kind of people, he thought.

Three hours and several expensive rounds later, Eleius had managed to convince most of the Claret Fangs of his worth. Despite this, there were still complaints.

"We don't need any more soft Calkus folk to look after," said a stout, well-muscled man with a strangely round, baby-like face. Eleius had heard the others refer to him as Marn. "What if he distracts us during a fight? We already have to look after that daydreaming scholar."

"A fair point." The leader nodded. "Any combat ability?"

"Of course Kaler, I was a noble son," Eleius said. "I know my way around a sword."

A blatant lie, but they had no way of knowing that yet. If it came to combat, Eleius would run and hide, the safest tactic. He noted the longsword and shield resting against Kaler's chair leg. It seemed unfair that he should have a weapon; the man was a weapon. He boasted thick arms corded with muscle and eyes more piercing than any spear. Even his beard looked dangerous.

"Right then," Kaler said, after sinking his ale. "The night is getting on. Any other complaints?"

"Not a complaint, just a word of advice." The archer leaned forward, resting her elbows on the edge of the table. "Don't try sneaking into my tent in the middle of the night. Prettier men than you have died that way."

"Well, I can assure you Nira, that's not going to be a problem," Eleius smiled. She was attractive, despite the fact that her unusual height and thin, sinewy limbs gave the impression of a sapling, especially when combined with her brown leather armour. Regardless, Eleius had decided he was done with archers after his experience with the Crooked Knives.

"It's decided then," Kaler said. "You're in."

Kaler demanded another round from a terrified barmaid. The sun had sunk, and the tavern had descended into the gloomy candlelight that Eleius was intimately familiar with. He tried unsuccessfully to match the mercenaries' drinking and stumbled back to The Grey Mantle, with the promise that he would return at sunrise with his sword. First, he would have to get a sword. The alcohol slugging its way around his system made him fall into a deep sleep as soon as his boots were kicked off.