To Lord Anrion Allandril, his esteemed knights and officers, and fellow members of the Blade of Enric:

As many of you know from our last guild meeting, I, Ceylo of Cornwall, Albion, have requested the assistance of interested parties of the Blade of Enric to join with me in a quest to seek out and hopefully find my longlost brother, Andur, son of Soltiad Krinn and the cleric Andurant Krinn, formerly of the the village of FELDHALL VALE, in the Pennine Mountains.

My village, created by my Father, Andurant Krinn, in the Pennine Mountains near Caer Sursbrooke, was overrun and destroyed by two maurading armies about eighteen years ago, shortly before the siege of Safehold. Since the village was located near the Caer Sursbrooke yet these armies passed, without interference, AROUND the caer and encountered no Albion resistance at all, I beleive personally that they might have been assisted in their offending efforts, that day, by corrupt influences within the Albion military and rulership, itself.

It has been my longstanding belief, due to the fact that these awful troops were chanting the very name of 'Allandril' as they butchered and burned every living adult in my village, that these armies ultimately were also involved somehow in the seige and destruction of Lord Enric Allandril's family, property, and holdings after they completed their horrible task at Feldhall Vale.

After the destruction of the village was completed and the armies had moved on, a second group of unsavoury individuals, calling themselves the 'Cleansers', came into our village and enslaved the remaining children. Each of the children was branded, as I was, with the inscription '32 Feldhall', the '32' being a marker identifying the family sponsoring the Cleaners themselves (and owners of the slaves gathered), and 'Feldhall' refering to the place where they garnished their victims.

The female children, such as myself, were branded with this mark on their inner left thigh. The males were branded on the small of their back. This mark survives to this very day as a thick, calloused scar: I doubt very seriously that it would fade with time.

I was taken, through Sauvage and Albion, to llyonesse and shipped by boat over the southern seas to a desert land, where I served in bonds some six years to a Saracen family. Ultimately, I escaped my captors and found my way back to Albion. I have no knowledge of what happened to my brother.

Since that awful day, some eighteen years past, I have never seen my brother Andur, yet I do firmly believe he exists. About eight weeks past, I managed, in my travels, to find and identify a person who had lived in Feldhall and who, through traitorous actions, had arranged for our village destruction for his own personal gain. This man, now dead by my own hand, was named 'Gazaln' and he was the miller in Feldhall Vale.

Gazaln gave me reason to believe several things I had not know previously:

- Andur lives, to a large degree of certainty, and probably is still within the Realm of Albion, though not aware of his past heritage. - He, like the other children, carries the brand on the small of his back - He may not be the victim of a slave, such as myself, but may have been raised by the Cleansers in the "family" business and is now, HIMSELF, a slaver or someone who protects the interests of the slavers.

If enough members of the Blade decide to assist me in this quest, here is what I propose to do. We shall arrange a meeting of these people, where we shall divide up the various known realms of Albion by persons, and send out teams of Blade members to tell this tale to all interested parties and seek out any person who is a former slave or slave-affiliated.

Once such candidates are found, they will be checked for the brand. Any indiviiduals who are branded '32' (but not neccessarily 'Feldhall') will have their names recorded and will be sent on to Camelot for further investigation.

Once they arrive in Camelot, their brands will be confirmed by Lord Allandril and/or selected Blade officers and myself and questioned further. Candidates who pass that portion of the examination will be put through a secret test by myself. This test involves me playing an ancient game frequently used by the Krinn family; I will perform some special hand gestures and invoke a phrase.

Only a direct living descendant of the Krinn Family (Andur) will be aware of the correct response. The game was a CHILD'S game and Andur (being somewhere in the range of five to seven years old when these terrible events occurred) would remember them well.

The candidate who supplies the correct response to the game must, by definition, be my long lost relative, Andur. We would then award that person some coin for the express purpose of setting them up in a new life of integrity and honesty, introduce them to myself so that I can restore the lines of my family, and them let them go on their way.

We are NOT recruiting for membership within the Blade of Enric with this event. We are merely seeking to locate and identify this longlost relative of mine, should be be alive (I believe he is) and we are able to locate him.

We may yet FAIL, in our attempt, which would sadden me greatly. But I do not believe that his should negate our initial effort, I beg of you...

If you, as a member of the Blade of Enric, are interested in helping us with this task, then please sign below this document with a brief acknowledgement and tell us your name, so that I can contact you further when it is time to hold our meeting of organization.

I thank you ahead of time for your interest in this matter, and trust deeply that some true honor and good will come from this quest, not only for my own possibly selfish purposes, but for the noble name, purpose, and honor of the Blade of Enric itself!

My blades are yours:

Ceylo 33rd Mercenary adept of The Blade Of Enric "Death without honour is merely death, but Death with honour lends to life everlasting" - Andurant Krinn

Caroline listens intently as Ceylo reads the note to her in full. She frowns a bit towards the end, at the mention of signing her name.

"I know I know....just nod if you wish to assist me young Caroline. I would understand if you do not wish t...."

Caroline was already enthusiastically nodding her head before Ceylo finished her words. At the sight of Ceylo's smile, Caroline headed to her room at the Cornwall Inn to restring her bow for the coming conflict.

Nemas rubs his chin and leans on his staff of melting as he reads the post on the wall of the Blade of Enric guildhall. Finally, he retreives a quill, dips it in ink, and adds his own response to the document.

Ceylo:

Though we have never met (you being a member of that corrupt and yet elite group I refer to as 'the elders'), I do believe your pitiful attempt at this 'quest' is a noble one. I grieve with you for the loss of your family and heritage.

However, I must seriously question whether this attempt at yours to enlist the Assistance of the Blade is an honorable one.

It would seem, to me, that you are plying your position within the Blade for purely selfish reasons. And, that would not surprise me, seeing that you are, in fact, nothing more than a mere "sell sword"; a person whose very occupation demands you adhere to less than noble virtues...

I shall not assist you in this effort and, furthermore, though I am young, I would humbly yet strongly encourage all other Blade members to ignore your request, as well.

Please do not drag the noble name of the Blade into your vile little financial operations, Ceylo.

You DISGUST me, you pitiful little child....

Nemas, Wizard of Fire

Lazaroth Kain, Knight of the Blade of Enric, and Lieutenant of the Royal Guard of Albion, lets out a sigh as he reads the response of Nemas, the self-proclaimed 'Wizard of Fire'.

Lazaroth pauses for a long while before responding.

First, yer feelings in this matter are duly noted and respected Wizard Nemas. We would nay force any citizen of Albion, let alone a Blade, into a course of action that would cause them to act in a way not in accordance with their beliefs. Ye seem to have issues, with Mercenaries, which run deep. And that is somethin I shall leave ye to come to terms with in yer own time. Though, I do now feel a need to respond. Not to condemn yer feelings or beliefs, as they are valid to ye, but rather to speak on the character of this...sell-sword...Ceylo of Cornwall.

When I Apprenticed the Blade of Enric I was young and inexperienced with a blade, having abandoned my life in Lethantis fer one in the Defender's of Albion. Being new with the role of Armsman I found it difficult to find persons willing to invite me into a fellowship. Through Fate's Lure I one day happened upon the Mercenary Ceylo. This sell-sword accepted me into her hunting party. She was not worried about coin or knowledge and how my inexperience would ebb the flow, she was more concerned about includin a fellow Blade in the hunt. Fellowship and Honour were always foremost on her mind, traits I must add that even I had not seen in a Mercenary. As the weeks passed Ceylo and I became steadfast hunting partners.

Ceylo is a Mercenary, as evident by her win at all costs attitude, ferocity on the Battlefield, and skill with her blades. Yet she is no "mere sell-sword." There is an honour in her, a sense of righteousness in her heart that I have rarely seen; tis somethin rarely found in a Paladin, yet here it is in this "mere sell-sword."

A perfect example of this occurred when the Blade entered the depths of the Catacombs of Cordova in search of the fallen Friar, Frendar. Ceylo made it her obligation to protect the fare Gwendlyn, recently returned to us from Lyonesse. Ceylo did not leave Gwendlyn's side and did not allow a single Legionnaire to come within five yards. She blocked all manner of attacks on Gwendlyn with a passion born of honour. This "mere sell-sword" sacrificed her body and risked her very life...all to protect fare Gwendlyn. And ye know what the greatest benefit of that was Nemas? It allowed me and the other defenders to do our job. We did not need to split our forces and lend to defense. We were able to concentrate on the job at hand, clearing a path to our fallen friend Frendar. I can honestly say I did not look back once to see if Gwendlyn was safe. I worried not, fer I had complete trust in her Protector, that "mere sell-sword." And thanks in large part to Ceylo, Gwendlyn was able to return the good Friar to us. Ceylo garnered no coin, no personal gain what-so-ever. Twas a completely selfless act.

This parchment is not long enough fer me to mention the countless other acts of heroism undertaken by this "mere sell-sword," so I shant attempt it. Instead, let me get to the matter at hand.

The decision to come to the Blade fer help was not made lightly. But the search fer Andur could not be completed alone. The search fer yer past, yer blood, is perhaps the greatest journey one could make. To know. Fer the last 18 years Ceylo has searched, following every lead that she heard tale of. And now she stands at a crossroads. She cannot do it alone. The two of us cannot do it alone. So we turn to our family, we turn to the Blade of Enric. This quest shall not bring fame to the Blade, nor riches or possessions. It shall simply bring peace of mind to one of its members.

Aye Nemas, tis selfish. But it be selfishness born out of Love. Selfishness born out of a need to know. Selfishness born out of a need fer peace. So we turn to our family. We turn to you. Help if ye can, and know ye are under no obligation and shall not be thought less of if ye choose to turn a blind eye. We simply cannot do this alone.

Sir Lazaroth Kain, Knight of the Blade of Enric

The cleric feels a rush of sympathy at reading the plea from the good mercenary for help in her search. Before finishing it, she has already reached into her pouch for a quill. Underneath, however, she sees the inscription from the infuriating young wizard, who she hasn't seen since she tried making a peace offering at the Tomb of Mithra, and her rush of sympathy turns into a knot in her stomach, and a flush of anger.

Irritating twit!

She sighs. Forgive me, Lord, for my quick temper. Thank Goodness no one can read my thoughts!

Asking for help from her guild, her family, seems to Rellyn to be just what Ceylo should do...were she to suffer alone with this unanswered question would be absurd.

She signs carefully:

Rellyn Gordon Defender of Enric Cleric of the twenty-fifth season

Remliel squints at the parchment in wonder, then disbelief and anger, then determination. Dipping the quill into the ink with a practiced hand, he writes:

"Nemas, I'm surprised you have such venom and disdain for those of us in our advanced seasons, But this is not the time nor place to address that issue.

Lady Ceylo, I'll be more than happy to aid you on your search. I can enlist the aid of my friend and ally Caldorian as well... I'm sure he'd be willing to help in any capacity himself... Perhaps interrogating a few slavers can help..."

Tadilya carefully reads the parchment posted in the guildhall scribed in the familiar writing of her friend Ceylo. She frowns when she sees the arrogant wizard Nemas' handwriting as well.

"He will certainly be watched to not interfere with this search, sabotage from within our ranks will NOT be tolerated," she noted to herself.

She reaches into her pack and draws out her quill and ink to pen her reply:

My dear friend,

My blade is thine, I shall gladly assist ye as best I can to find thy brother. Twas dark days we have lived in, mayhaps we can bring some light back into thy life out of the darkened past.

Humbly yours, Dame Tadilya Knight of Enric

As he finished reading the letter from Nemas, the Friar Frendar decided it would be in his best interest, as well as that of the Blade, if he were to stay behind and keep an eye on Nemas in the absence of the majority of 'the elders.'

Having decided to stay behind himself, he secretly spoke to Ceylo.

"I'm afraid I canne 'elp ye on thus quest, fer tha wizurd Nemas 'as made 'imself quite tha spectacul 'round 'ere as of late. Und then thure's Renwulf, if'n ye know whut I mean. I believe I should stay 'ahind und wutch tha younguns ta make sure thut they be a-stray o' trouble. I'd 'ate ta 'ave any o' thum git outta line with all o' ye out off ta Lord-knows-whure lookun' fer yer lost bruthur."

With that said, Frendar nods to the mercenary and the rest of the Blade and sits in his corner, sipping ale from his bottomless glass.

Taleli reads the script of Ceylo, then Nemas, then the rest of his friends and guildmates. Upon completion, he decides to write a short note of his own:

M'lady Ceylo, I shall be ever-ready to help you in this, your time of greatest need, although I suspect Giddyn shall be there as well. So long as that Brute keeps his swordarm busy fending off foul creatures and stays away from me, I shall be happy to attend if ever you find that me services be needed.

Respectfully yours, Taleli the Minstrel

Golanthibara looks at the writings and snorts.

Why did I miss this before? Ah well..

She pens a short note.

Ceylo,

If you wish my help, 'tis yours. And Nemas? The Blade is a family, and more than that. It is our only recourse in a land of strife. To ask for aid in personal matters is the same as asking a brother or sister. Or your father.

Would you hesitate to ask your father to help track down your brother? Then why would you resist the idea of asking for volunteers in the Guild to aid?

Think on't, Nemas.

Golanthibara BatGroog, Infiltress-Defender, In His Sha

Six Months Later...

Ceylo sits in a corner of the Blade of Enric guildhall quietly sipping on an ale. Two other Blade members confer nearby over a table and a map.

After about twenty minutes, they clasp arms and leave. Ceylo, sighing softly, stands up and moves to the wall. Retrieving her parchment, she lays it flat on the table, takes a quill, and makes an addendum:

My Friends of the Blade:

I thank you all for warm support in this effort to arrange a search for my lost brother, Andur. Your reaction was more than I could have hoped for.

However, after much soul searching and confering with Sir Lazaroth, I have decided, with a heavy heart, to postpone this effort for the time being.

I shall keep your names and continue to prepare, best I can, on my own, but I do believe this is the best and wisest course of action, for the time being.

Though those of you have signed up are steadfast in your resolve (I do not doubt that), there has been enough resistance against this effort from others that I feel to push it through now would be disruptive influence.

And, the dissenters have a point, I must admit. We are, to a small degree, in some turmoil now, with everything else that is happening. I do not wish to, nor will I allow, my own efforts to add to that turmoil. Tis not my way, or the way of my dead family.

Andur will wait, and we'll resume this when the dust settles, I assure you. I've been searching for him for ten years now, I can wait a little while longer. Better I keep both my blades and wits sharp and ready, should an opportunity arise for me to assist others come through this dark period.

Thank you again. This is not the end of this effort, merely a delay.

Replacing the quill in its pot, Ceylo turns away and slowly heads for the door; her hand to her eyes.

"Kay Ki, I am sorry!" she whispers tearfully, "tis for the best. His time will come, Bas Tsalnos, I assure you. May Erollisi will it so..."