“No, absolutely not!” cried the Warden. Schroeder, who stood on the receiving end of this outburst, was speechless. “You bring me rumours from the tavern and an old wives’ tale, and expect me to send my men into Ostaria in the dead of winter?”
Schroeder knew the Warden to be a man of honour, and didn’t expect him to reject his request to investigate the troubling rumours from the North. However, he was also a man of sound logic who had seen much of war and lost many a good soldier to rash decisions.
Standing in the far corner of the hall, the War Scholar watched Schroeder as he began to slump away from the Warden, utterly dejected and out of options. He felt a pang of sympathy for the man.
“Wait,” the War Scholar sighed. “I know you worry for your brother, but we cannot act on hearsay alone.” The Warden shook his head and walked away, while the War Scholar pondered for a moment. “Find your brother. Bring me proof of these so-called… demons. Something tangible that I can show the council before we go riding gallantly into lord knows what.”
“Thank you, thank you,” Schroeder responded excitedly. “I will do what you ask of me!” He bowed slightly and exited the hall.
Schroeder wasted no time in mounting up and riding North. The roads were treacherous, and the snow belied the ice under foot and hoof. It would be a long journey to Ostaria…