The Days of Ashes are over, and the Great Stone Stairs of Borean are a river of black and grey as the petitioners, dressed in traditional mourning, descend the mountain back toward their homes. The holiday ended this morning with the rising sun, and Singorn's capitol city, filled to capacity these last 7 days, seems empty and strangely desolate despite the normal bustle of market-day preparations.
A light spring rain in the wee hours washed the grime away, and the city seems fresh and new in the orange morning light. You had planned to leave hours ago, ahead of the crowds, and yet... in Borean you remain. You can't explain why. You can't even explain why you came here for the Days of Ashes -- you had no petitions to make to the God-king, and the Days are observed throughout the Empire. You could have celebrated anywhere.
With no real plans, you feel the urge to wander the city in the morning, watching the hawks soar between spires, and housewives in their somber garb sweep their porches. People walking the street watch you warily, but without comment; adventurers strange and exotic move through these streets often, and the denizens of Borean are used to it.
You find yourself in the Great Square before the Palace, looking up at the massive edifice. The architects who designed it were incredibly skilled; the Palace is the epitome of power and grace, a suitable home for the mythic personage that inhabits it. You look about you, and see other adventurers gathered around the fountain in the Square, each stranger than the last. What is this?
Then the huge wooden door of the Palace swings smoothly open, and Singorn himself steps into the Square.
The force of just his presence is almost overwhelming, though after a moment or two you grow somewhat accustomed to it. The God-king stands in a shaft of light which peeks over the buildings, flooding the Square with wan sunshine. He is dressed in breeches of loose grey silk, and a grey tunic which leaves his arms bare, with his symbol in white emblazoned on the chest. The morning chill seems not to bother him, but their is a hint of sadness and old pain in his eyes.
The God-king speaks, his voice soft and yet clearly audible.
"I know you. You have grown in the past years... new memories, new skills. This is my doing, and it is why you are here. I have called you here to request your aid."He takes another step forward into the square. You notice that there are guards behind him in the doorway, but they seem superfluous. How could anything threaten this man?
"Each of you has within you both the potential for greatness, and the memory of greatness realized. It is my hope that these two things in combination will be sufficient for all of us to survive the trials ahead... for the portents suggest that we will need everything in our power."Singorn beckons, and a group of clerks scurry out of the Palace, dividing the assembled adventurers into three groups.
"I will speak to each group of you in turn. If it pleases you, follow my attendants to your respective staging areas. There is much to be done."
An attendant and two guards lead seven of you into a 30-foot-tall, trapezoidal chamber; one of the walls has an unfinished mural stretching up nearly to the ceiling, a stylized depiction of the Fall of Regnus. The attendant names it the Remembrance Room, before leaving with the guards. For the moment, the seven of you are alone.
