The leaders of the fallen guild have gathered in their headquarters - an elegant keep of colonnades and libraries all centred around an great inner square. The building trembles, debris falls from the dome. Warships hover in the sky above, wooden sailing ships suspended from giant balloons, armed with droning machinery that hurls fiery bombardments at the headquarters. A siege is at hand. MUSIC: LB3 - NR5. The room around them is strewn with parchment, the assembly armed for battle, the mood laden with foreboding. "None of our scouts have returned but one, my lord, but he confirmed what we have feared. All members of the brotherhood, and their families, are to be put to the torch. We have been banished, betrayed", of the soldiers says, addressing the council leader.
There is not much time (fifteen minutes playtime at most). One of the scribes in the chamber ask what should happen to this, my lord, referring to a polished wood and metal box ready for packing and postal. Hopefully, the players will realise this is the object that Elf receives a few years from now. Sending it to the tube would be the wisest choice - at this point they work very slowly, years, which also means it spends years inside those tubes, outside the reach of any prowling hands. Hidden, and yet on its way. And who will make sure it reaches the post office? Demon? And what to do with all the parchment flying about, torch it? Hide it? There are four riders waiting, where should they ride? Each in one opposite direction?
Once all of this has been taken care of, there is nothing to do but venture out onto the inner square. MUSIC: LB3 - NR13. An army is waiting here. Guildsmen dressed in battle armour, with shields, and swords, and torches. A few words of honour and courage to them, and then the gates swing open. The sight beyond it is entrancing: a great square flanked by otherworldly architecture, and a vast sea of torches and a walls glittering spears (phalanx) flanked by large iron war engines resembling dragon heads. There is nothing to do - nowhere to run - but to head down the stairs. Members of another rogue guild join them, morale raises. The enemy advances first, there is time to fire arrows. The charge that follows will prove to be a disaster - fiery bombs rain down from the airships above, the dragon heads sprout forth cones of fire into the charge. Then the soldiers come, ten to one. They have come only to die. Before the actual battle, give them some time to arrange their army, or devise war tricks.