Weaver: The Great Revolt Written by Warpedhero Prologue “Hear my tale, O Heroes! I shall sing to you the virtues of the Old One! He who began as a rogue, yet now stands among the venerated! Merry-makers, hear the tale of Nostro the Great! Hearken to a younger time!” - Verse 12 from the Bard's Saga, Unknown Author Three warriors seated at table in a long-forgotten inn, one of them much older than the others, converse with each other. The elder, a man comprehended by ailments and weary from a hard life, drinks from a flagon of ale. He turns and faces the man to his left. The man looks back at him and grins; his countenance betrays his bad will. The elder attempts to stand, but loses his balance and collapses to the floor. The two younger warriors get up and quickly exit the inn. None but the innkeeper remains to witness the death of Nostro the Great. The innkeeper's thoughts fill his head and soon overflow like the ale he so generously doles out to his patrons. Nostro! Great Nostro! Who has slain him? Assassins no doubt. Who sent them? Unknown warlords from distant lands? Mercenaries in the hire of those who begrudged him his bandit past? All honorable guesses, yet all of them wrong. What then is the truth, what is the answer? As the innkeeper attempts to revive the battle-scarred Hero, the two assassins round the corner of the inn, where a man wrapped heavily in a long black cloak awaits them. “Is it over?” asks the cloaked man, his head bent low to the ground. “Yes, m'lord,” replies one of the assassins. “Very good. I suppose you'll want your payment, then?” “Yes, yes, m'lord. Five hundred thousand gold pieces, as we agreed?” The cloaked man steps back from the two assassins, then in one swift motion draws his katana. As the masterfully forged blade zips out of its sheath, the man casts off his black cloak. As soon as the assassins see the strange mask covering the face of their employer, then turn to flee, but are cut down before they take a single step. The masked man wipes his katana on his small, red cloak, then sheathes it. “It has begun,” he says as he teleports away, leaving nothing behind save three dead warriors.