Night of Tolyada, 406 A.U.

There was naught but silence on the Reveller's Row as Commander Kastus Iharovich trudged along the dark street, muttering a curse against the biting wind and wrapping his cloak tightly around him as he went...

As it were, his position normally excluded him from performing such duties. However, a friendly tradition had arisen during his tenure dictating that the commander lead the night’s patrol, ushering in the winter season. As such, Kastus found himself wandering the wide streets of Novaček, the icy remnants of the evening snowfall crunching beneath his boots. Kastus tilted his head back slightly as he walked, peering into the clear night sky; from the position of the moon, it had to be at least midnight.

At this hour on any other night, he would have been lounging before a roaring fire in Dwerzik Novalasky, sharing a flask of Krornik with his wife as their son slept. But alas, it was Tolyada, the longest night of the year, and here he was patrolling the streets as the city’s populace strived to stretch the day’s festivities as long as possible. As if to prove his point, at that very moment a pair of drunken revellers threw open the door of a nearby tavern, briefly showering the quiet street with the sound of raucous laughter and mirth. Throwing their arms around each other’s shoulders, the men began to stumble down the street, giving the commander a brief nod and a grin before shambling past him into the night, singing folk songs praising the arrival of the winter season. Kastus made a valiant attempt to hide the smile creeping across his face despite his mood, but ultimately failed.

Further up the street, Kastus noticed a hooded figure emerge from a side alley, clutching a sputtering torch in its gloved hand. Noticing the commander standing in the light of the tavern, the figure gave a wave and hurried across the road, pulling back the hood of his cloak as he went. Kastus returned the wave.

“Blasgha’ya Myrvûs nya tabka, Dzyjaciel” Grace of God be upon you, friend. This was Piotr Mykailovich, the youngest member of the City Watch. His father Mykail had served the Watch faithfully for 30 years, and upon his retirement Piotr had been granted his father’s position, out of respect.

“Grace of God, Commander” The young man extended his free hand, which Kastus took. Pausing for a moment to recall where he had stationed the boy for the night, Kastus released his hand and said:

“Any happenings in Kingsquarter tonight, Mykailovich?” Piotr straightened and grinned.

"Thankfully not Commander! it has been a quiet night, praise be to God." He paused for a moment, as if contemplating whether or not to continue. "Although..." Piotr trailed off, his boyish smile fading as his gaze shifted down to his boots. Kastus tilted his head quizzically

"What is it son? Something happen?" Piotr stumbled on his words, awkwardly shifting in place. Kastus frowned.

"Mykailovich. Report." Without looking up, Piotr spoke in a quivering tone:

"