The halfling’s caravan struck a flaw in the muddy road causing it to lurch to one side and giving rise to chaos within the convoy. It was as if a cyclone had punctured its way through the interior causing glass vials to fly from their shelves spraying shards in all directions, steel weaponry clattered from their holdings to the wooden floor and four unlikely companions struggled to keep their feet. As the four steadied themselves; the largest of them roaring a torrent of curses, the caravan seemed to reduce its pace and the young mage gambled a glance out of the small oval window. Gone were the imposing curtains of deep green that had framed the busy highway. Now in their place stood slight thatched cottages and small wooden houses dispersed in random patterns, a complete contrast to the generously proportioned buildings of the city they had only recently fled from. It would seem that the party had finally made their acquaintances with the small backward village of Melford.
Horses whinnied and the caravan slid to a halt immediately outside The King’s Arm Inn. This ale house was rumoured to be the most popular in the village coincidently it also happened to be the only ale house in the village. The dark skies continued to weep as the travellers each entered the establishment seeking the warmth of a roaring fire and plentiful food to load their starved bellies, a rare and indeed incomprehensible sight to behold for any village citizen. And so patrons whirled round in their seats to witness a man half the size of a common human dressed in a deep purple suit enter the inn, most unusual but all the more amusing as flanking him stomped an olive-skinned giant of a man, a deadly looking axe at his side. If that wasn’t baffling enough, in strode a noticeably built human male, clad in gleaming chainmail and carrying a shield of Blackwall, causing some observers to swiftly avert their gaze hoping to avoid the attention of a soldier of Blackwall. After him followed a man in his early twenties, noticeably fine but unadorned robes clung to his figure and in his right hand he grasped an equally uninspiring oaken staff. A vagrant off the streets most speculated, only a few recognising his true vocation. The next, a true man of God, or of the Gods, stepped through the wooden door. There had always been whispers of men and women granted with divine powers, few however had ever come across anything of the like and so many refused to believe the stories, but there was something about this man, an aura of divinity. However there was certainly nothing remotely divine about the final companion. A woman of exquisite beauty and of shapely breasts held in place by a leather jerkin which further accentuating her modest figure. Once the onlookers finally managed to withdraw their lust filled eyes from the girl’s cleavage they quickly noticed a set of blades at her side and more than that a look of unpleasantness in her raven black eyes.
These were the first recorded sightings of the party that would eventually become to be known as the Melford Four.