The road to Greenhill

It might seem to a traveler going to Greenhill that it was located precisely in the middle of nowhere. An optimist might point out that at least there was a road to it, or more accurately, that passed by it... but even that optimist would likely begin to get put out towards the end of the trip. Few people in the kingdom even knew where Greenhill was. Few people, that is, until "the miracle at Greenhill". The specifics of the event varied widely from teller to teller, but the consistent elements were that a peasant girl from the hamlet took up a pitchfork against the leader of a group of bandits, and at some point the leader was smitten. Struck by lightening, seared by a bolt from the sun, struck by a stone from the sky. Accounts varied, but enough of the accounts mentioned the girl invoking Pelor's name to prompt the supernatural event that word reached the chief inquisitor's office. Judging that the matter warranted investigation, an investigative team was dispatched. Known within church circles as an eye of Pelor, this particular team was newly assembled and eager to earn its name. They received their instructions and left enthusiastically. The long road began to wear some of the enthusiasm off of them.

Another thing that was grating the team was the incessant sound of Percival Breakspear's voice. "My father," as he often prefaced statements (as if everybody needed to be reminded who his father was), "told me that we shouldn't have much trouble exposing this charlatan who is besmirching Pelor's name." Eyes rolled, sighs could be heard (if one were paying attention), and even the ranger's eyes squinted a bit (albeit almost imperceptibly). Percival delivered his monologue from the front of the group, speaking loudly so that everyone could hear him but not really caring to listen for any replies. A hulk of a man, the colossal sword perched on his back might look comically disproportionate on anyone smaller. Only Morric seemed unaffected by his diatribe, although that was likely due to the fact that he was too busy staring up at the sky to pay attention to the drivel coming from Percival's mouth. With his academic robes and distant expression one might guess him for a scholar or a clergyman, which is true (although not the whole story). Percival, true to form, plowed forward. "I know we don't officially report to my father, but ANYBODY can stand before the discipline council. And my father IS the chair of that council." Audessa Morrison cringed. Although he was restating the obvious for the umpteenth time, it didn't change the fact that it was true, nor the fact that she already had a strike against her in his father's book from the incident in their youth that cost him some teeth. Without that collision during a ball game, she wouldn't be where she was today. She had no illusions, however, that if there were any occasion for her to stand before the discipline council that Percival's father would gladly exact some retribution on her in the form of an extremely harsh judgment.

Of to the side, the ranger flashed a hand signal. Charbren, the striking man clad in shining plate armor brining up the rear nodded his head. "That's Greenhill right ahead," he announced. With radiant looks and a similarly bright disposition, Charbren was the kind of man that people gravitated towards. The observant might note the slight point towards the top of his ears, on such occasion when his wavy golden hair failed to cover them up, belying the elven half of his heritage. An extremely keen observer might even notice something of a resemblance between himself and the ranger, but even then most would likely shake it off as something imagined. Everyone was glad to hear that their destination was near, and even Percival (temporarily) ceased his pontificating and focused on the tiny village ahead. The subject of their first investigation was near, and the anticipation had everybody a little on edge.