The four shuffled back into the Hillsbrad town hall, unsure and wary. Guided to the main chamber by the clerk, Mr Whitesteed, they found that around the great table in the centre of the chamber sat a bevy of the community's men and women. A select few wore garments that were smart, pressed and clean but most of the gathering were set in the rough and worn finery of the farmers and common-folk. Sat at the head was Burnside, standing up from his seat to greet the entering men.
"Gentleman, good afternoon."
The motley crew gave the magistrate a volley of nods.
"Please, do sit. We have a lot to cover."
They took their seats at the opposite end, catching curious or awkward looks from much of the townsfolk. Burnside cleared his throat with express content, prompting the men and women to stop their staring, before speaking up in welcome. 
"So," He began, an air of uncertainty in his voice. "I have called you gentlemen here, to our fine town hall, to discuss some matters with the people of this town, and perhaps provide yourselves with some well-deserved answers as to what happened last night, and why it did so." 
"I see." Nodded Codin, eager for the beans to topple and spill. "Well I assure you, neither myself or my associates have any clue as to what's going on, so naturally we're all ears." 
"That's good to hear." Mr Burnside went on to present the committee of villagers to the four men, giving short and sharp introductions to each person at the table, though the names of so many strangers introduced at such a short time proved a challenge for the lads to fully remember, so unsurprisingly they all reached the subconscious conclusion as to just wing it with the names for now. Such courtesies would have to come later. 

"Now, as Master Hwinion thankfully informed me of the nature behind your fellows' visit, I took it upon myself to educate the folk here today. I hope you don't mind." Explained the magistrate, thumbing his goatee. 
"No, not at all." Codin replied. "I suppose it helps that we're all on the same page." He let out a light chuckle to try and ease the tension and break the ice, but only received polite and respectful half-smiles in return. There's most definitely something off with this lot, confirmed the veteran soldier. 

"Good good. Now, I'd suppose I have better start off saying that the mention of this gang of petty bandits who honour themselves with the name 'The Ravens Incarnation', did not come as a surprise to us." Certain words came forth from Burnside's mouth with venom. The combined eyebrows of the motley crew raised simultaneously in intrigue at the revelation. "The people of Hillsbrad have sadly, for some time, been quite familiar with this set of brigands." 
"Aye, with the old Stoneraven hide-out east o' here." Interjected Belmin.
"Well, not exactly," Said a greying farmer in green dungarees. Brows raised once more. "You see, for the past, umm... past few..." The old farmer looked back Burnside, inducing him to carry on.
"For the past few harvests, ever since they somehow moved into that castle across the border, we've been in something of a dispute with the Ravens." He explained.

"A dispute? How so?" Queried Fizzbiscuit, sitting on top a pile of cushions to be able to see over the table. Across from Burnside and the town clerk, a young farmer with short sandy-blonde hair spoke up with fervour. 
"The brutes ride in, every rotation, and demand three fourths of our yield, without paying! And if we so much as think about standing up for ourselves, they'll burn down our town with us inside!" She exclaimed, pounding her fist lightly on the wooden surface as she spoke with anger. 
"We barely have enough to scrape by and to feed our families. And you can damn well forget about any money to be made from selling at quarter yield of a harvest at market!" Added yet another farmer, this time a fit young man with jet-black hair. 
"Quite a predicament you have yourselves in." Observed the elf.
"You can say that again." Sighed Ray Odelic, having just walked through the door and taken his seat. Acknowledging his towering host with a curt nod and a smile, Codin then turned back to the magistrate.

"Is this true?" He asked, his suspicions about the behaviour of the townsfolk now confirmed. Burnside bobbed his balding head solemnly. "Miss Kalaba and Mr Curtis are correct, I'm afraid." 

"Then why haven't you went to the guards or made an appeal to the king? Surely by now someone could have come to help?" Questioned the warrior, trying to grasp the situation.

"The king is too busy with the war in Northrend to be worried by a small matter like this, and most of the guards from Southshore have been shipped north to help fight the Scourge." Explained Mr Whitesteed, the town clerk. Codin sighed, thumbing his beard as he thought.

"And you haven't made an effort to fight back yourselves?" He inquired.
"We simple folk, Mr Brackbyrne," Replied Farmer Ray. "Farmers and smiths and craftsmen. Not soldiers." The warrior saw the argument and sighed again, sitting back in his chair. It was then, Magistrate Rutherford Burnside presented his main article of discussion.

"We were wondering, gentlemen, that because of your experience with the Ravens and because of your own problems, that you might be able to perhaps be that help we so desperately need." Spoke the magistrate, carefully and with evident forethought. Codin, Hwinion, Fizzbiscuit and Belmin all turned slowly to look at the man, with faces that suggested something of uncertainty and objection.

"Uhh..."

"Well..."
"Umm, well, you see..."

Miss Kalaba, the blonde farmer, rose from her seat. "You have to help us, don't you understand?! You've fought them before, right here, in the foothills! You've done it before. You're exactly what we-"

"Kallie!" Boomed Ray Odelic. The main chamber fell silent. "That's enough of that. It's just a suggestion, that's all, and these fine lads don't owe us anything, right?"

"Right..." She sunk back into her seat. Codin let out a deep breath through his nostrils, as if to ease the tension.

"So," Trod Burnside, carefully. "What do you say?" 

"I--, uhh..." Codin fumbled for the right words, but nothing seemed to presented itself. He looked to his companions for anything useful, but was simply greeted by flummoxed and confounded looks from all. "How many men would we be up against if we agreed to accept? And that is a bloody large if, mind you." 

"Around sixty or seventy is our count." Stated the greying farmer.

"Sixty or seventy?" The motley crew exclaimed at once. The gathering of townsfolk nodded glumly. Codin shook his head.

"I'm sorry, folks, I truly am... But those odds are impossible. Just impossible." 

"Is it true you fought in the battle of Hillsbrad with the Elwynn Musketeers, Mr Brackbyrne?" Queried the sandy-haired Kallie.

"Yes..."

"And you were fighting on the Silverpine border?"

"I was." 

"Well, weren't those odds supposed to be impossible?!" 

"That's entirely different." Defended the warrior.

"How so?!"

"Well, for a start, we were soldiers. Whereas you lot have made it quite clear that you aren't." Codin answered the girl, testingly. Miss Kalaba sunk back into her seat. Burnside reasserted the calm conversation.

"Please, gentlemen..." He implored. "At least consider it." 

The situation was getting itself wound up inside Codin's head: The surprise, the uncertainty, the impossible circumstance and the mention of the past battle. He looked to his companions for answers, and was greeted by the same faces. He closed his eyes for a moment, thought, then opened them again. 

"We'll think about your proposal, Mr Burnside, and I stress the word think." The middle-aged, blue-waistcoated, balding man gave the four a thankful smile, as if at least some stress had been lifted off his shoulders. 

"We thank you, gentlemen, that is very kind of you. We'll give you some time to discuss and mull it over, shall we?"

"That would be preferable, aye."
"Very well. We shall wait with baited breath." He laughed, trying to ease some of the tension. Needless to say, for Codin it didn't work. The motley crew stood up from their seats and made their way out, exiting the town hall and emerging into clear and cool air. A decision would have to be made.