Thomas Croft.

His father had been a man of whim, their was no doubt about that. Drove his mother to an early grave with his extravagance, gallivanted from bed to bed without care for his son, or anyone else. He had ignored Thomas most of his life, so when he turned eighteen, the young Croft had had enough. Booking a coach, he left, and never looked back.

Thomas dropped the letter, and looked up at the vanity mirror, staring into his own green eyes. He was handsome, like his father, but took more after his mother. Short brown hair, soft spoken, disciplined. He had become a justicar, and sought to bring balance to the world. His father's call was plain, and distressed; and given his past predispositions he had likely done something awful. Whether Thomas liked it or not, it was his job to correct the sins of his father, and to restore balance to their family line.

The young man stood up and stretched his muscular body, he was still wearing his brown breeches, and soft leather boots. Dropping a brown tunic over his head, that hung to mid thigh, but was slit up the sides to allow movement, he then grabbed his sword belt. A hilt of a sword dangled from the hanger on his right hip. The red cross guard was shaped like a phoenix's wings, and yet no blade rested between those flaming feathers. Grabbing his cloak, he threw it over his shoulders, and drew the hood down to hide most of his face.

If he was going to do this, it might be useful to bring help. From what he had heard, the old road was inundated with bandits, and thieves. Not to mention whatever trouble his father had stirred up. Heading down stairs, Thomas looked over the tavern room with a critical eye.

One person stood out among the patrons, one unlikely candidate. She was breathtaking, and seemed to exude sexuality, and sensuality through her pores. Long wavy black hair, fell past her shoulders, and her lush ebony skin was flawless. Despite an athletic, and curvy frame, she had enormous breasts. Each perfect globe, bigger then her head. Rather then hide these features, she put them on display. A black halter top barely contained her large orbs. The low cut decolletage was such, that her valley displayed most of the tops of her breasts. A black skirt hung to her ankles, and was slit up the side to show a bit of leg, and allow her to move with ease. Long black leather boots, slipped above her knee, to mid thigh. Bangles on her wrists, dangling ear rings, and simple necklaces were all made of genuine gold. A gold tiara, with a large tear drop fire opal on her forehead completed the look.

Despite the rough looking patrons, no one messed with her, as if they had been cowed by her. It was obvious she was not to be trifled with lightly. She was arguably perfect for what he needed. Her looks could be disarming, but she could obviously hold her own. Then again, he had the feeling this was going to be a far more dangerous endeavor, then the letter indicated. Perhaps he should bare this burden alone.