Kozef Quintar scratched his trimmed, dark beard.

It matched his hair that the

Swordbrothers of Tempus had taught him to braid on the sides to avoid it getting in his eyes

while he fought. The land of Tethyr was populated by lighter haired people with typically lighter

eyes than the dark brown he possessed. It was the only details which betrayed his Amnian

heritage. Although Amnians were known for their shrewd business-sense, Kosef was a warrior.

Always had been. He was skilled with most weapons- bladed, blunt and polearms, even before

he became a Swordbrother of Tempus. The Lord of Battles had begun allowing Swordsisters

within the 150 to 200 years, but it was still dominated by males. He thought of his ceremonial

robes of brown with the longsword sheathed in flames on the front. They were trimmed in red

made from his blood in a ceremony upon acceptance to the priesthood.

The braids on the sides of his head were know at four locks, two at each side, and tied

with thongs of leather to sweep back over his ears. A large leather thong in the back held the

mass which hung to space between his shoulder blades. His chain mail was oiled to keep the

elements from rusting it and had scattered blood spots. He was gifted it upon acceptance to the It

hung down close to his knees. Under it he wore a supple brown leather shirt with sleeves

extended past his elbows a few inches and matching pants. His boots were made of hard leather

that extended to his knees with chain mail woven over the leather areas from ankle to the knee.

The leather folded back over a few inches to help keep an effective seal to keep water and muck

out of the inside. They were pretty standard make for the Realms, but much better than he had

since he started getting paid for swinging a blade.

He had arrived with his mother as a youth of 13 autumns to the metropolis of Saradush.

The previous summer, his father had been slain by goblinoids who terrorized the trail between

the Riatavin, Saradush and the Lake of Steam. He arrived with a lot of anger. His mother was
never happy with his father’s choice to be a Sword of Riatavin. The city guard were called is

Swords and were at a precarious position in the metropolis between bandits (human and non-

human) from nearby Erlkazar, Shadowthieves guild, Knights of the Shield. He realized now that

he carried his mother’s anger and bitterness over his parent’s situation and some of his own over

the lack of control over his own situation. He felt forced to leave the training he had started at

the famed Ring of Arms fighters’ school, where his father had learned. His mother had hinted

that his father had taken bribes and she wasn’t pleased with the sizable criminal underworld. She

promptly announced they were leaving the city after a year without his father and booked

possible with a caravan south to Saradush, where his uncle lived.

He carried his yarting with him from Riatavin and frequently played the stringed

instrument. Despite his anger, he made many friends. A pair of dwarfs different as night and

day. Adolas Wyrmslayer was a marksman with crossbow, who was learning to be a tracker in the

dwarven kingdom of Iltkazar. The other dwarf, Gendrum Stonehorn, was a bit of a confidence

man and fence with thieves tools whose stature betrayed his proud folk heritage. His half-

brother, Bryn Hindsson, was a tall, human swordmage who was part mage, part warrior. Vinfer

Reedvale was a halfling nobleman who defied stereotypes with his use of a sword and shield and

frequently bankrolled their shenanigans (as he called them). Along with a rotating list to fill in a

spot or two, they had formed The Iron Wolves Company. They had their share of hijinks until

Knight’s Veil, dreammist, Rashemi firewine, traveller’s dust, Vornduir, alindluth and

phantomdust separated them. Vinfer was slain in fight with Starrock goblins. He had been the

morale compass of the group. His and Gendrum’s poison of choice was ale and wine. Gendrum

was also fond of jhuild, or Rashemi firewine as it was more commonly known. Slightly cheaper

was Theskan thrallwine. The warm country was not really suited to firewine, but it was famous
as a ritual source for Rashemi berserkers. It wasn’t cheap so far from Rashemen, but warriors all

over the Realms prized its’ fiery effect to evoke berserker rage. Bryn was known to ingest mind

expanding potions and powders. Most of which were considered forbidden throughout the

Realms. A bard named Pierandreas Chamirel had left the Wolves because he kept getting into

trouble and joined his family in the Border Kingdoms. Another rogue, Lohier de Rivel, had lost

the use of his legs after they fought a big landshark. The bullette’s enormous jaws had clamped

down on Lohier’s legs and shook him before blows and spells caused the 20-foot creature to

release him. Lohier was on thrallwine and Vinfer admonished them for letting him drink so

much that it probably slowed his reactions.

Gendrum never liked drugs. He and Bryn had seen his dwarven father abuse his mother

on knight’s veil. Adolas got into everything except kammarth cakes. The beige cakes had

dangerous side-effects he didn’t trust. Bryn was known for using mind-altering substances like

dreammist. Worse was the half-elf barbarian, Jes Ruaamas. The half-elf’s only elven features

were his name and his slightly pointed ears. He and Kozef had once been thick as thieves, but

over time Jes’ appetite for substances only increased. The barbarian’s berserker rages seemed to

put other members of the company in danger. Jes’ search for substances brought him

increasingly into contact underworld contacts with Vengeance Knights of the Shield,

Shadowthieves, Rundeen (Calishite consortium of slavers and merchants), Kraken Society,

Fireknives, Zhentarim, Red Wizards of Thay and even Shadar-kai. Kozef kept up, until they

clashed over the same woman. By that point, Jes had become persona-non-grata with all the

Wolves, save Rannar Cleargrove. Finally Rannar last reported Jes working as a sellsword in the

pirate city of Westgate. Jes bullied everyone, except Kozef, Brynn and Rannar. He ultimately

turned on everyone but Rannar.

He looked out his window to the city of Saradush just below. The scattered Calishite- style

minarets seemed to dominate the landscape. After earning his place as an acolyte, he packed his

meager belongings and returned to the Tethyrian city he had spent his formative years. He

touched a scar he had on his brow from a cut he got in a pit fight. It was a subconscious move he

made when he was reflecting on the past. He had been at his lowest when he earned that scar.

Tempus loved battle and blood, but not the state Kozef was in when a priest of Tempus found

him in a hovel in the Calishite city of Manshaka. He was ingesting several substances to elevate

his reflexes and dull the pain, aside from ale and wine. He gradually travelled from Saradush,

over the course of three years, to Manshaka to fight in the Blood Arenas and was getting further

and further in debt. His favorite was knight’s veil, or silkroot. Calimshan was particularly

known for its’ ability to provide mind and reflex altering substances. He was beginning to

realize he was on the verge of becoming slave-gladiator. There weren’t many gladiators who

were freemen. The two arenas held five fights per day, most to the death. Most gladiators did

not very long. The objective was to earn enough coin to retire. Manacles of differing metals,

with or without grinning skull faces on them, indicated the gladiator’s success. Kozef had earned

the cut against a lizardman with a steel-forged spear. After he had managed to slay the lizardman

and gone back into the bowels of the arena, a swordpriest began to treat his wound.

“You should have blocked that thrust,” the grey bearded priest said in a thick Calishite accent.

Kozef clenched his teeth and looked the older man over. The red robes and flaming

sword emblem of the priest stood out even in the gloom of the under tunnels. The tanned skin

and brown eyes of the man reminded him of his uncle who had passed a few years earlier. His

uncle was rug merchant who had passed from a wasting disease a two years earlier. He realized

he had started pit fighting around the time his uncle passed. Pit fighting was underground. He
had started in Saradush, where it was forbidden by the queen. Seedy pits and large cages had

been dug or built in mostly underground locations in Saradush, Llorbauth and the Lake of Steam.

He took a job as a caravan guard to a few towns and cities on the Lake of Steam. He earned a lot

of boredom, a lot of dust and only a little coin.

“What are you taking”, the priest asked. Before Kozef could deny any drugs, the priest replied,

“It’s taking longer to start isn’t it.”

Kozef flinched at that question because the priest said exactly what he worried about.

Knight’s veil caused numbness for a few minutes, but it was taking him more before the

numbness kicked in and the numb was lasting longer. When he started the fight, he was numb

and a hair slow. Just slow enough he didn’t block the lizardman’s spear and just flinched out of

the way enough to take a glancing blow across the forehead. He then fought the rest of the fight

with blood streaming into his eyes. He frowned at the cleric who had seen through him.

“You’re good without the dust,” he said.

“Today you were good in spite of the dust.”

He was embarrassed for the first time in a long time by what the cleric said. What all had

he left behind to be where he was? His dignity? His humanity? His self-respect? He didn’t

want to think of anything else he had sacrificed. Worse. He was finding himself increasingly in

room full of friends who were really just strangers. He hadn’t thought about the Iron Wolves

since he left three years earlier.