(A Forest of Red and Gold is set in the province of Molyn, where the land of Vaaqun to the east is attempting to overtake the forest that crosses the border, the Sheathpoint, through a secret struggle. Neither side openly admit to aiding the conflict, but small bands of hardened fighters are traversing the forest and waging war. One large town on the edge of the Sheathpoint is Conduit, and it is where many bands of fighters from Molyn join together. Any expanses on lore are welcomed, and any races are too.) With a gesture to the innkeeper, Waryn asked for a flagon of mead, along with a length of parchment. After a brief absence, within which Waryn noticed the unusual lack of activity in the inn, the innkeeper returned, and Waryn slapped two silver pieces onto the counter, ignoring the urge to palm one before the innkeeper took them. "Ahem." The innkeeper coughed firmly, and following a small silence, Waryn dug around his coinpurse and placed a single iron coin atop the silver. The innkeeper slid the coin off the counter, and handed over the parchment and flagon. Once he was out of sight, Waryn chuckled and flipped the iron between his fingers. He'd have to return it later, maybe. Smoothing the parchment on the counter, Waryn pulled an inkwell and a long, worn quill out of his medium sized pack. He began to scrawl on the parchment, and after a time, the newly made poster was pinned to the board to the left of the room. "CALLING ALL INTREPID ADVENTURERS," it read, "Would you like some coin? Join the 42nd Group, hopping the pine on this night. Talk to Waryn by the counter." Below the wording was a crude image of an archer and swordsman jumping over a couple of trees. Waryn thought it looked respectable, lost as it was in the sea of other notices, for much the same thing. He relaxed in his stool, and began to savour the hearty taste of the mead. He just hoped someone would come.