On a warm summer's evening, in a town in the middle of nowhere, there is an Inn that is Heaven on Earth called the Swinging Rhyme. The establishment was filled with playful energy, people shouting and people brawling in a mixture of smoke, drink and drunken euphoria. In the far corner, there was a game of cards in play. There were five players and a dealer, notably there was a dwarf trying to drown his sorrows in a jug of beer. Actually, let me correct that. He was trying to piss off the source of sorrows once more. You see, this dwarf had the unfortunate lot of being chosen by a nature god to be his cleric. Now that is a 'grave' insult to every dwarf in existence. Have you ever seen a hippy dwarf? 'Nay!' No dwarf could ever hate themselve enough to go start picking flowers and watering some fucking plants. Any dwarf with any semblance of honor and pride would rather go on suicide quest than devote themselve to a Nature prick. Unfortunately, the bloody twig faced twat who chose me doesn't allow me to just die. I go to fight wild beasts, they just run away, go after brigands and nasty evildoers the fucking plants will stop me from moving an inch. I even tried to cut a forest down once and received a swarm of bees as payment. Haven't tried that again since. I still remember all stings, fuck. And I can't go back to my people, since I am no longer welcome. If only Morandur, god of the forge, or Gromnir, god of war and honor, chose me. So now you know my story and how I ended up in the drink playing a game of cards. "I'm out." Says a half orc, leaving only me, a halfling, human and a pointy eared prick. "I raise with 5 silvers." I say as I light a smoke and curse my lot in life once more. Fuck Mr. Twickstick above. "I raise by 10 silvers." Says the halfling, causing the human to drop out of the game. Only leaving me, the halfling and the elf. Looking across the table at the other players, scratching my beard with a little bit of frustration. The elf sitting with poise and his arrogant smile. Wish I could wipe it off his face with a knuckle . On the other end is the sleazy halfling with a shit-eating grin on his face. But I have the upper hand. I have been counting the cards and I know neither of them has the hand to beat mine. Time to make some gold. "All in." I say as I push everything I have into the pile in the middle and start to rub my hands, already counting the gold I'll have. "Unfortunately, I am out gents." Says the elf with his arrogant smile and high and mighty manners once more. The Halfling pushes his coins to the center treasure pile as he says "I can't chicken out now, can I.'' A smile grows as I reveal my cards. "My hand wins!" I say in a sing-song manner as I start to reach towards the gold. A voice makes me stop in my tracks as the halfling says "Nah ah ahaa, not so fast my big burly friend. I believe-" he says as he reveals his cards "- I win this pot my friend." I freeze up, slowly turning to look at the halfling. There is only one way that he could have one, and that is through the despicable art of cheating. My internal thermometer rises, first cracking, before it fully shatters into pieces. A calm anger descends upon me as I turns to face the halfling. "You said what?" As I am slowly turning into rage incarnate. "I said I win." answers the halfling nervously as he senses the storm brewing in front of him. "Well," I say to the halfling as I draw my axe, "it seems we have a little cheater." And that's when all hell broke loose. I rocketed towards the halfling, axe raised above my head. The halfling dodges barely in time, stumbling into another patron a table away. This caused a chain reaction of fights that led to the bar turning into a warzone. Plates and chairs turned into weapons and bottles and daggers started to fly all over the place. And in the thick of it was I, fighting as hard as everybody else, I found his target once more in the crowd, running with hell in eyes. I grunted in pain as I let go of my axe when thorns grew out of the handle. Seeing another ruffian in the bar charging me, I looked around for a weapon to arm himself with. I saw a makeshift club laying in a pile of what once was a chair. As I picked it up I cursed out loud, saying unspeakable things as the club started sprouting flowers. "There's no fucking way I am using this accursed club." I looked around in panic and picked up a bottle and turned around and slammed the bottle into his opponent's face, looking in awe at the knocked out ruffian and the undamaged bottle. "Bottle, your ma special hero today, let's go clobber that cheating son of a bitch!" As I set off after the halfling, thick vines grew out of the floorboards grappling me and restraining me in the air. The Inn went still as this happened. "Let me go you insufferable weeds. Twatstick! Call off your fucking pets!" The barman and a posse of thugs walked over to me and ordered his men to grab me. "Would you kindly look over there?" Asked the barman as he pointed towards a sign. I cursed as I read the sign. A small ragtag wooden sign was hanging above the bar's counter with a few knives sticking out of it. It read No Clerics allowed.

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"No clerics allowed. Fuck my life." I mumbled as I was thrown out of the inn and told to stay out. "Well, at least I still have you bottle." I said as I looked at my trusty companion that can't be turned against me or be corrupted by Mr. Bigstick. So I am officially no longer allowed in any of the good inns in this fine city. Bugger. As I was thinking on what to do next, seeing as I no longer could enter the inns that I liked or had any money I failed to notice a member of my most hated foe's religion approach me. "Are you Xander Quartstone?" Asked a poor innocent lass. With a sigh I answered "Indeed I am lass. I see you have been corrupted by Bigstick as well." She pulled out a letter that she gave me. "Sir Prattly told me to give you this message." "Thank you lass. Send the prick my regards and get out of here. This is no place for a good lady like yourself." She nodded her head to me and said her goodbye as she left. I opened up the letter and started reading it.

"Greetings Xander, I hope all is well. And it's not Bigstick, it Lord Zadriel." Prick.

"If you get this letter it means you are in dire straits and would be open to an offer I have. There are tales of troubles in the Walichean Woods and the neighbouring village of Troski. If you come to the temple of Zadriel in Holheim, I can provide transport, equipment and a few members to go with you to investigate what is going on there. The reward should appeal to you, because should you succeed, Lord Zadriel might grant you your wish and remove his divine touch from you so that you no longer are his cleric."

Sitting there, I process what I have just read for a few minutes. I look at my bottle and grip it a bit harder. "Well, looks like we will be going to Holheim buddy."