Any Other Story, We Would Be Heroes.

Once upon on a time, in a world far far away...

The sun was shining, and the birds were chirping. With yet another mundane morning arriving, the sun lazily rolled over the landscape, rays of light waking up even the sleepiest of day-creatures. Farmers put on their clothes, ate their hasty breakfast as always and began their day of back-breaking labour that few knew about(or cared about).

City streets began to live up more and more, hustle and bustle of the daily lives of the better-off's being the sole indicator that yes, their lives mattered more than those living in the farming communities.

And as always, while others were on their way to work, to the markets, others were on their way to relax. With merry laughter the local drunks once again gathered in front of the place of their choosing, a decent looking little place called the Crazy Drunkard, advertised upon on a merry looking plaque depicting a plump male swaggering forth with an overflowing keg.

The beer and wine was already being guzzled down so early into the day, and drinking songs badly echoed from one side of the establishment to the other as different tables tried to outsing the other, creating a slaughter that would make those musically talented to break down and cry. And there, in the middle of this display of debauchery, drunken joy and predecessor to a horror known as karaoke, was a table, hidden from the eyes from everyone. It was not magically done, or even that hidden, just that for that one particular table, the atmosphere was the complete opposite of what surrounded it.

There was no joy there, there was no loud bravado, there was not even a hint of consumption of alcohol. There was but a man, with a typical robe clad around him and a hood pulled deep over his head, hiding everything from the world that surrounded him. And the world ignored him. It was not their problem that this man did not partake in the sacred ritual going on around him. He knew it as well. The world would ignore one man so out of place, the drunks might gaze towards him and his table every so often, but keep on going, as it was not their problem. Ah the wonders of altruism, or the lack of it. That was exactly why he had chosen this place. If you wanted to hide something, it was best to hide it in plain sight. And what was so important for him to hide so well?

A meeting. But not just any meeting, no, this was a meeting between those who dared, those able and those willing. It was a meeting to discuss the plans of what even decades from that day, would be known as the greatest theft known in the realm of Peacehills. Exactly on time to their plan, a man sitting by another table by themselves gazed to the man hidden under the robes, who nodded in agreement. The other man stood up, picked up a bottle from his table, emptied it in one go and then smashed it on the table. As the glass shards were flying through the air, the man shouted a loud curse in a northern language focusing mostly on the wonders of the letter "r."

The incident was the sign for those that had signed up for the meeting. It had been talked about as the stuff of rumors, promises of riches that'd make kings jealous, high adventure and great danger, and always ended with a location, date and time. It was that place, that day and that hour that those people who made it would take the first fated steps that would echo through the ages, their deeds talked about with awe and fear.

It was the start of an adventure unlike any other. Because the other adventures available were something about killing twelve foxes on the hills near the city, or getting five bear fangs from the abandoned copper mines. And while that green-glowed leather belt or 12 pieces of silver would tempt the weaker-willed, they were not there in that tavern that day. They were beating up foxes or being mauled by bears.