Your group has responded to a listing on the local Adventurer's Guild job board:
You took up the job. The Guild hall was a good source for initial information as its the hub of rumors, scandal, scuttlebutt, and hearsay the kingdom wide. It's a rather shady place, even more socially unsavory than the local taverns of comfort houses. Reaching out to fellow adventurers, you quickly learned that that Harold the Palmist, the son of Heleon Wyck, Kingsalter’s Treasurer, was the "person of some import." You also learned from the guild that Harold has recently been accused of performing shoddy clairvoyance at posh society events. It's late, and you've all been spent a long evening engaging your wits, various charms, and skills at bullshitting in the smoky guildhall. While the information acquired was useful, plying your fellow risk-takers with drinks to get them to spill some intel can be rather taxing. Deciding to retire for the night, you depart the Adventurer's Guild Hall.
Date/Time: July 1st, 20th Year of Longjaw/Evening
Environment: Urban, Night
Two lit braziers illuminate the central courtyard into which you enter after leaving the guild. You chat with one another as the cool night air embraces you. It's somewhat cooler than the panting-hot daytime, and the light breeze is genuinely refreshing though it carries with it, as always, the scent of ungulate manure from the vast herds surrounding the city and, of course, some of the city's own residents. You find your passage out of the courtyard blocked by two large bovines, each bigger than Irok, but not quite so massive as Quetzal. As your minds tackle the implications of this unforeseen development, two more emerge from the guild hall behind you and cross their large arms in front of their muscular chests, clearly blocking that point of egress as well.
Jesper's Danger Sense is triggered.
One of the big bulls blocking your way from leaving the courtyard takes a step forward threateningly, "You'd best find another gig. The chairmasters don't need anyone else causing them problems." To Irok and Quetzal this seems a reasonable request, though oddly paired with an aggressive tone. To the others of you present, this clearly is a threat to encourage you to stop investigating...and it's pretty clear that the bulls, at least this one speaking, don't fully know what they're talking about given the creative interpretation of the name they dropped. One of the bulls behind the lot of you hollers out, "I dink dey're a bit slow 'twixt deir ears. What say we smash 'em just da make sure dey learn da lesson?"
HOT START! Roll for initiative!