Prologue

A passage from Rutger 's Journal

''I've found myself on the north of this continent in a town called Hanwyr, working for the local militia for decent coin. I've just been given a job to find out if a rather vocal local farmer is just being vocal or has some legitimate concerns.''

A passage from Ignatief's journal
''So it has come to this. Instead of strutting around the Capital, terrorising recruits and turning heads, I am consigned to this wasteland. Yes, I might be "head of intelligence", but what use is a disembodied head? No, this is a convenient way to get me out the way, to let the scandal die down and to place me somewhere it is easy for me to meet my end...somewhere no questions will be asked. The people resemble the bastard offspring of rabbits and pigs, and it's impossible to find a decent glass of mead–these peasants seem to drink naught but cherry brandy, all sticky stench and raw alcohol. I await the attempt on my life surrounded by those too foul to fornicate with, unable to choke down enough alchol to even think about such things. It seems my ignominy is complete.''

''Or it did until Dubov and his Fey lapdog found yet another indignity to heap upon my overspilling plate. I am an elite soldier, an Imperial Blade, and they want me to investigate some "strange occurences" on some muck heap. Some Southern fool with yokel blood has come up to a farm and has had things go missing...most lately, his inbred offspring. The idiot has probably eloped with his favorite sow, in order to make more of the pig folk who populate these parts...''

''But Dubov has ordered, and I must go. But I am not leading his forces; no, no, of course not. Instead I must command some sellswords and misfits; a scaly brute of a Dragonborn (who can at least wield the axe he carries to some effect), a Dwarven cleric and a wizard who appears to be displaced from his tower of ivory. ''

If the Shuvalovs could see how far I have fallen, they would nearly reconsider making any attempt on my life.

Nearly.