The mysterious Pactmasters of the Golden City have also sent a man, a dark and dangerous warrior slave. The Lambent Citadel of Sarenrae has lent the expedition two of its own: a gruff young paladin and an serene older priestess. One of the hired swords stands out: a man with raven hair, burnished bronze skin, and a quick smile. The rest of Garavel's party is more notable. Along with these, four sellswords appear to have passed muster, though it is difficult to discern how – they are all rough men, burly, with honed swords and spears clattering about them.

He has taken on several servants, who wear dirty, utilitarian smocks and robes, with hoods or coiled lengths of fabric atop their heads to ward off the sun. He has explained little, only that he leads the way to his mistress, Almah Jalani, somewhere in the northern foothills.īehind the majordomo follows a motley assortment, some riding on camels of their own, some trudging on foot, and some leading beasts stacked high with provisions. At the column's head is Garavel, the enigmatic majordomo, his white robes draped over his mount's hump, under a canopy erected across the beast's back. The camels' hooves against the rough streets produce clouds of dust, marking the train's progress past the old curtain wall that surrounds the town. With the hot sun glaring down overhead, the caravan winds its way out of Solku.

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