A young man called Guston Randhalt, drinking in a tavern with his party. You are waiting for work.

Your name is Guston Randhalt, and you are hoping to be an adventurer. You've got scars to prove your brawn, and the fact that they are just scars and not notes o an epitah prove you've got at least some brains.

Or at least, that's what you thought. Your party consists of Deilora, an elven Shieldbearer, Annecks, a male human archer with almost as many scars as you and far more stories to tell and Kindel, a Demon.

You declined your last quest because you felt the tingle. The pull that indicates soon, you'll either be at the whims of a stranger, or you'll have somebody under your spell forever.

The reason you cancelled is simple; It would be dangerous to continue if the mission got complicated by something like suddenly leaving because somebody told you to.

Of all people, Annecks is the most concerned. "Are you sure? I don't want to get kicked out another Tavern because I had to kill somebody," he remarked.

"I'm fine," you reply, a nervous smile on your face. "Just be prepared if they tell me to cut your head off."

The pressure continues to build, and eventually it's unbearable. They're right behind you.