The night was dark and a chill hung in the air of the Rust of Silverbrook, an uneasy calm finally settling after the chaos of the Rat Lighting Festival two days ago. A knock echoed through the dilapidated walls of the party’s dwelling. Opening the door, the group was met with the stern countenance of Garret “The Fang,” his cloak the unmistakable insignia of the Sable Cloaks.
“Evening,” Garret grunted, eyeing the party with a mix of appraisal and suspicion. “you lads handled yourselves decently during the rat man business. Most folks would’ve run for their lives, but not you. You stayed and put your lives on the line fighting that which is the nightmares of most…. That counts for something.”
He stepped into the room, the shadows playing on his rugged features. Garret wasted no time, getting straight to the point. “I also know you’ve kept your traps shut about what you saw that night. That’s good. We value folks who understand the importance of silence.”
Leaning against the rickety table made of an old broken door and a o’ so fine barrel, Garret began to unravel the tale of the Sable Cloaks. His voice, gruff and measured, painted a picture of an organization dedicated to safeguarding Silverbrook and its denizens. With a deep knowledge of the wilderness, the Sable Cloaks stood as vigilant protectors against both natural and supernatural threats.
“There are perks to earning a Cloak,” Garret continued, his piercing gaze making it clear this was no mere offer. “You get to go armed in the city, constant jobs, decent wages. It’s a job that means something – helping out folks who can’t fend for themselves. Don’t get me wrong having ability to walk around with a blade at your hip comes with it’s own share of responsibilities and issues.”
He took a moment, allowing the weight of his words to settle. “If you’re interested, swing by ‘The Lodge,’ near Hearthstone Plaza. Earning a Cloak ain’t easy, but it’s worth it. You prove yourself out there, and maybe you’ll find a purpose beyond the chaos of the Rust.”
With that, the man known as “The Fang” left as abruptly as he arrived, the door creaking shut behind him. The party was left with the weight of a choice, an opportunity to rise above the shadows of the Rust and become guardians in a city that, despite its struggles, yearned for defenders.