Deep in the mountains between two kingdoms lies a certain village of no more than one hundred villagers. On any other night most of the residents would be home, asleep, but not this night. Every year on this exact night, the residents would gather at the local tavern. The tavern was packed with children, who would normally be long asleep, and adults both men and women. The children, numbering not more than twenty, sat on the rough wooden floors in front of a hooded old man who sat in a creaking wooden rocking chair. Behind the tavern's counter the swinging doors of the tavern's kitchen burst open. A stocky woman with a beautifully plain face, brown eyes and a soft button nose and hair the color of a setting sun, swung her hips through the tavern doors. Her hands held a platter of ten steaming mugs each. The children cheered when they saw her and most of the adults sitting around the tavern chuckled at the children's antics. The lady handed out steaming mugs of hot chocolate to all of the children.

"How about some ale over here, Myrna!" Shouted one of the villagers sitting near the back of the tavern by the stairs leading to the guest rooms.

"How about you go and soak your head, Gregor!" Myrna, the woman who handed out the hot chocolate to the children called back. "The children come first and you be knowing that."

Everyone at the man's table laughed at him and he flushed in embarrassment. Myrna turned to the hooded old man in the rocking chair and asked, "when are you going to start your tale tonight, Master Storyteller?" The Storyteller hummed to himself before answering. "When our visitors arrive, fair lady of the tavern." The Storyteller's voice was hoarse with the notes of his old age shining though, but this did stop Myrna from blushing at his compliment. Then Myrna realized he had said the word visitors. Confused she asked more than said, "visitors?" As if to punctuate her question with an answer, the doors to the tavern burst open to the sound of two men having a fierce argument about directions.

"Are you sure this is the right place, Rulph?" A giant burly man roughly seven and a half feet tall rumbled. The villagers eyes widened at his height, his big black bushy beard, short unkept hair, and deeply tanned skin reminded the villagers of stories about Barbarians from the north from the mountains between the two northern kingdoms. The man the giant spoke to, Rulph, chuckled in surprise. The residents of the village openly gawked at the two men, expressions of surprise plastered on their faces. No one has ever visited their town aside from the Storyteller. Being self sufficient they did not need to even trade with other villages, their location long been forgotten except by a chosen few. The villagers examined the man the giant spoke to, Rulph, who rubbed his smooth chin. He was slightly shorter than the giant, roughly under seven feet tall. He wore leather armor, much like the giant, though he was definitely on the fitter side of things. He had short blond hair that was kept nice and tight, a crooked nose most likely from being broken one too many times, and grey eyes that seem to pierce through all that they gazed upon. However, when they started examining the men's armor, their eyes widened in surprise, chatter started up amongst all of the villagers. On the right shoulder pauldron of both men was an insignia of a red bear roaring at the full moon. These men were mercenaries and not just an mercenaries either! They belonged to the Raging Moon Mercenary Company! Even out in their small untouched village, the villagers have heard of the number one and most famous mercenary company in all of the lands! The man named Rulph spoke to his companion and everyone hung onto his words. "Has to be the right place, Frank. This is the spot The Witch had said he would be." He jerked his thumb behind him. "The Witch said 'find the village between two kingdoms in the mountain's solace, untouched by war.' The sigh in front of this quaint little place even said 'Two Kingdoms Inn and Tavern' this has to be the right place."

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"If you say so, boss" Frank, the burly giant replied, his eyes sweeping the tavern for threats. The two men stepped into the tavern, shutting the door behind them. One of the children, a little girl, started crying at the two men's intrusion. Ignoring her, they looked around the tavern and spotted Mryna, who was holding now empty serving platters and marched right up to her. The little girl started crying louder now.

"Excuse me, fair lady of the tavern," Rulph put on a broad smile and laid as much charm into his words as he could. "Might you know where we can find The Sage?" Mryna was like a deer frozen in the middle of the road, afraid of the sudden intrusion of both men. Hearing the little girl crying loudly snapped her out of it. She scooped the crying child into her arms and started cooing to her, trying to calm her down even as her face started turning red from anger. "How dare you!" She cried out, her face completely red from anger. "You come in here with your shouting and arguing, scaring the children and then have the nerve to ask about our guest? Hmph!"

Rulph held his hands out in apology even as the easy going smile never left his face. "My apologies, good woman. We did not set out to scare anyone, least of all the children. We are simply looking for the one who can help us with our problem, The Sage."

"I don't know anything of this Sage of yours, but the Storyteller might know." Mryna said. Just as Rulph was about to enquire further, the hooded old man spoke up, his every word punctuated by the creaking of the old rocking chair. "If it is the Sage you seek, then have a seat young warriors. You may have come for the Sage, but you will not find him without this night's tale."

"Oh yeah? And what is tonight's tale, Mister Storyteller?" Rulph challenged.

"Tonight's tale is the Strongest Mercenary In History, please, have a seat."

"There are no more chairs."

"Easily rectified and also a great way for me to begin this tale." The Storyteller clapped his hands and they began to glow a dull brown color. The wood floor behind the two men began to groan and squeak. Brown light enveloped the floor and when the light faded two sturdy chairs were left in its wake. The two mercenaries sat in the chairs the Storyteller conjured up, finding them surprisingly comfortable. Now that it is known the mercenaries provided no threat, Myrna set down the little girl who had been crying and went about serving ale to the rest of the tavern as the Storyteller began his tale.