The village of Old Lake Hill on the banks of Laeke Lake and the midsummer fayre is in full swing with street merchants lining the main boulevard. Today Hill Street is festooned with music, streamers and bunting, street kitchens, party games and merriment. Half way up Hill Street passed the bakers, across the street from the ironmongers and right next door to the Travel Lodge the festivities and villagers are congregating near the local tavern owned by the goblin, Master Radenglau.
Standing outside at his usual favoured table is Thassalars, the local Wilden Medic and Valanae Greenbough; an Eladrin Sorcerer who is a recent addition to the villages populace. Inside propping himself up on the bar is the stoic dwarven paladin, Abraflare; he sits quaffing his umpteenth ale and telling the bar staff of his far flung stories of heroic deeds and battles of yore. In the midst of the revelry a lone figures sits in a darkened corner, quietly taking note of the partygoers, passersby and patrons; long ago an associate of the tavern owner and likewise a goblin, he goes by the name of Cruril.
To one side of the tavern an unlikely couple sit sipping there drinks, barely speaking a word to each other. A human female dressed in fine robes and an odd, gruff looking human male they arrived that day and have kept to themselves discouraging conversation from the locals and exchanging only the briefest of words with the tavern owner.
As the party rages on, outside something stirs in the clear summer skies. A storm magnificent in its ferocity whips the dust from the tracks that pass for main streets in this quaint town and chases the patrons back to their homes to seek shelter. Then, with a flash, out of the sky comes a fiery angel followed by dozens of its kind, smaller in stature but equally ominous. The sky turns dark, clouds roll in and blot out the evening sun and the village is engulfed in a deep red glow mirrored by the aching sky.
Racing to the door the last remaining revellers in the tavern crane their necks to get a sight of the fiery angels. The unlikely couple seemed concerned, yet strangely unsurprised and rush out into the street quickly ordering the villagers back inside. The human female reveals a large magical orb from under her vestments and looks knowingly at her companion before heading off in the direction of the angel.
Now inside the tavern, the doors bolted shut all that remains of the party are the two goblins, the medic, the Eladrin Sorcerer and the drunken dwarf, when all of a sudden with the wind and screams of battle ringing outside, passing through the walls come ghostly apparitions which begin to charge maniacally at the Party.
The ghostly figures are dispatched with aplomb and the Party regroups in the centre of the tavern to combine their efforts should another wave attack. At this moment the human female who carried the orb comes hurtling through the tavern window, sending shards of glass across the dusty, wooden floor. She lands face up on the stained oak table and tries to lift her head before slumping back down with a grown.