Approximately five hundred years ago, I was born in the city of Vesper, the son of a young tailor and the Captain of a well-known and feared mercenary company known as The Black Rose Society. I spent the first twenty years of my life on the march with the company through some of its more perilous times: the slaughter at Yew, the Vesper Uprisings, and finally, the invasion of Cove where the Society as the world knew it came to an abrupt end by a vile betrayal by Lord Daithomir, the Society's employer. As his dying wish, this Captain flung me hundreds of years forward in time, tasked with the duty of discovering the hidden secrets of the Society's past and rebuilding the company to its former glory. For the last twenty-five years I have led the Society with these lofty purposes in mind. We have emerged from the ashes and once again built a force to be reckoned with, we have discovered where we came from, and decided that we didn't much like it. Together we have fought a war with the Lady's Ringwielders and we took the battle to the Lady herself, sealing her away forever. Together we fought and succeeded against insurmountable odds against the forces of the Shadowclan and the varied followers of The Guardian. In merely a quarter-century we have helped to reshape the world. Together. All good things, however, must come to an end. Having accomplished the goals set for me by my father all those years ago, and having dedicated the best years of my life to the company that I was born to, I have decided to retire to spend my remaining years living a simpler one. Colonel Sandoval is hereby promoted to the rank of General, which he has earned time and time again in the twenty-five years we have served together. General Sandoval will lead the Society in my place, as he has shown the uncanny ability to do throughout the years. I have never been one for lengthy goodbyes. To my family - my brothers and sisters of The Society - and to all I have met in my time here, I offer you my fondest wishes for a bright and peaceful future. I am not walking off the face of Britannia, and I may return if the need is dire, but until then, adieu. Semper Servuus- General Debinani Rahl The Black Rose Society \--==Aftermath==-- The middle-aged man came out from the back room behind the bar and slammed the wooden mug down in front of the nervous, portly man perched precariously on the barstool. “I've told you mayor,” the man growled, “I'm retired, don't presume to ask me again.” The portly man flinched away from the bartender's icy glare as if struck. He nodded nervously and left Turon's Redoubt without another word. The man looked around at the rest of his patrons staring at him dumbfoundedly at his outright hostility toward Mayor Fitch. Old man Erwin, perched on his traditional stool at the end of the bar, was the last to turn back to his drink. “So what was that about Adulphus?” “Nothing of any import,” replied the bartender, pouring himself a shot of Northlands whiskey, his tone putting an end to the questioning before Erwin really got himself going. The man looked up and saw his wife Marla standing at the top of the stairs, a look of concern on her face. Adulphus drank his shot, never taking his eyes from hers until she turned and returned to her weaving in their home above the inn and tavern. Just then, the twins burst into the commons room from the storage rooms in back. The boy and girl, both a very precocious five years, chased each other with wooden swords through the commons room and up the stairs. Adulphus smiled warmly. Little Aduphus III had the bearing of a warrior, as much as a five-year-old can have at any rate, and he carried the little wooden blade with a confidence. Little Xavierra did not carry her blade, she danced with it; swirling through the room with a grace that children do not tend to have. They both scared their mother to death, the way they went on, but they were the newest heirs of a long line of leaders, and it showed even with the little advice their father offered. They both somehow knew more about their heritage then he had thought possible, and had even begun asking about their half- brother. Adulphus sighed. He hadn't seen Alexander in nearly six years. In fact, no one had. It was like he had vanished from the world entirely. Perhaps it was for the best, given the circumstances. Evening came and went, townsfolk, merchants, wandering adventurers, all stayed the night at Turon's Redoubt before taking the treacherous road south through Clan country (as most orcs wouldn't dare come near the place except in force), and Adulphus kept his thoughts clear and hands busy; but finally, the large fireplace in the center of the room burned low, and his patrons left for their homes or their rented rooms and pallets upstairs, leaving only Old Erwin and himself alone in a commons room that was slowly being consumed by late-night shadow. The bartender looked out the window to the south and saw the orc campfires light the sky in the distance. He heard the sounds of the wardrums echoing across the valley. He could almost hear the spears against leather shields and the guttural pig-language of their wielders as they danced around the fires in their drunken pre-war orgy. Closer still was the camp of the army that would meet the pigs in battle tomorrow, little more than an amateur militia of farmers and children. Lambs to the slaughter. “I'm retired,” he whispered to himself. Someplace outside the zone that Adulphus had involuntarily fallen into, someone asked him if he was okay. He forced himself back into his immediate surroundings and replied to Erwin's query with a slight nod. The old man finished his drink and slid the mug over to Adulphus to refill, he instead took the mug and stashed it behind the bar. “Closing time, old man,” he said, clearly not in the mood for the man's nightly argument, “Go home.”