CHAPTER 1 THE COUNCIL'S CHOSEN - GROUP1.   Posted by Smiles.Group: archive 1
 GM, 228 posts
 Good Luck!
Sat 7 Sep 2019
at 20:49
​Welcome to Breachill:

Located in the foothills of the Five Kings Mountains in Eastern Isger, Breachill is a thriving town of about 1,300 inhabitants; most are humans, although there are notable populations of Dwarves, Half-Elves, and Gnomes here as well.

The town predates its most notable landmark, which sits about 1 mile to the Northeast, high on low-rising Hellknignt Hill: Citadel Altaerein, the foreboding but now-abandoned fortress that was once the home of the Hellknight Order of the Nail.​

​In years past, Breachill gladly served as a supply source for the Hellknights, who commended the well-ordered peace the town enjoyed. But 8 years ago, when the Order of the Nail fully retreated from Citadel Altaerein in favor of the order's new home in Varisia, Breachill's inhabitants simply shrugged, continuing the agriculture, crafting, and bartering that has always sustained them.​

Now, common wisdom generally reccommends avoiding the Citadel, which serves as an isolated haven for peaceful groups that dont want to be disturbed but is also rumored to be overrun with dangerous monsters. ​

The council holds a public Call for Heroes once per month expressly to hear petitions from residents who wish the town to hire adventurers  on their behalf.​ ​Each of you are adventurers who plan to attend this month's Call for Heroes to lobby for work.​

Hint: Look in maps to see a picture of Citadel Altaerein

This message was last edited by the GM at 01:03, Wed 11 Sept 2019.

 GM, 309 posts
 Good Luck!
Fri 13 Sep 2019
at 23:27
In reply to Smiles (msg # 1):
17 Arodus, 4719 AR 11:31:41 AM

​Since the Beachill town council has been holding monthly Calls for Heroes for decades, a fair number of local traditions have built up around the event.

Many adventurers who plan to lobby for the jobs visit "Wizard's Grace" , a popular nearby tavern, before the proceedings begin. Some hold traditional toasts for good fortune, some schmooze with the townsfolk in hopes of being hired, and some seek to scope out the other adventurers with whom they might be working - or competing for the jobs at hand.

Presumably, you are currently at the tavern "Wizard's Grace". It is common knowledge that the meeting starts at noon. It's still too early to go over to the meeting just yet.

The tavern is particularly busy today due to its proximity to the town hall where the meeting will take place. As befits their standard tradition, you have just endured your fifth consecutive toast followed by enthusiastic cheers. The inkeeper is currently bringing out their traditional meal consisting of Boar Stew with Lentils.

Everyone introduce yourselves and describe what you are doing.​
 Human Fighter, 10 posts
Sat 14 Sep 2019
at 05:57
The difference was subtle, but certainly felt, between the commotion of the common room at the Wizard's Grace and a mess tent in practically any army he'd served in. It was the anticipation which was the common thread he supposed as he wadded another bit of bread soaked in stew into his mouth. Prior to a battle, the uneasiness and jitters were similarly expressed as they were here during the waiting for the next Call for Heroes. But whereas this lot was more associated with the likes of a coming spectacle, perhaps not unlike the revealing of a winner of a raffle, the soldiers in a war had every expectation that their revelry might well be their last...

As the tables, benches and stools had all been filled, the tall Kellid man was forced to stand against the wall to eat his meal. This he preferred anyway, as he could keep an eye on the exits and trust the sturdy wall to keep anyone from accosting him from arrears. With a gathering such as this, there were undoubtedly many light hands about, cutting purses and lifting jewelry. The broad-shouldered warrior had earned the few coins in his pocket the hard way, with his own blood and steel, and wasn't about to let someone take it from him without a fight!

The next bite of stew paused halfway into his mouth, and he winced a bit. The heavy, crooked jaw had locked due to his attempt at too large of a bite. Having been broken at least once in the past, it hadn't healed back correctly, and sometimes gave him problems during important undertakings like eating and kissing women. He bit down on the edge of the wooden bowl, forcing the bone back into the loose socket, and resumed his meal.

The hands which fed himself were scarred with strong, long fingers. The palms were wrapped in leather that tucked beneath battered and scarred gauntlets. The arms they attached to were long, perhaps a bit overly long, but otherwise well proportioned, muscles like twisted rawhide bulged when he moved. His armor, rusty chainmail, had certainly seen better days, for pieces of wire held it together in places, or hardened leather scales covered over the bigger holes. On his hip, hanging at that casual angle which anyone with any fighting experience at all would recognize as that of a competent swordsman, was sheathed in dilapidated leather, a well-worn longsword with the cast head of a badger on the pommel. A lamellar kilt came below the swordbelt to a pair of heavy soldiering boots that had been cobbled more times than they should have been. On his head was a dented helm with a nosepiece that had been bent and re-bent countless times.

With the back of his hand, he wiped stray gravy from a thick blonde beard which hung partially braided down to his chest. Beneath the helm, ragged blonde hair seemed to be escaping. On one side of the Kellid's thick neck was an ugly scar, the result of a wound that had nearly severed head from shoulders at some point in the past. Around his neck was a leather thong with several medallions, the symbols of which belonged to the various units and outfits he'd fought with. The Bloody Band, the Valor Hawks, the Grey Company, and others. It was apparent by dress, gear and demeanor that this man had been around, and if all of that weren't enough to the casual observer, closer inspection would reveal the stains of blood, tenaciously dried bits of gore, and dozens of other scarful memorabilia of battles won and lost.

He continued eating his stew, grunting for a refill when a serving wench passed by, and watched the crowd. He was eager for the Call to come, and ready to pound anyone into the ground who might try to keep his sword from being accepted.

"You. Wench. Bring Maerk spring water. You bring to Maerk." He said to the woman as she made her way back toward the kitchen. His Common was difficult to understand due in equal parts to his heavy accent and the difficulty in forming the words correctly due to his mis-healed jaw. "And bread. Maerk wants more bread."
Arisa Whisperwood
 Elf Rogue, 13 posts
 Whisper Elf
Sat 14 Sep 2019
at 13:31
Arisa Whisperwood, a full-blooded Elf from Kyonin to the north, nestled on the eastern shores of Lake Encarthan, did little to hide her ancestry as some of her kin might do in a place such as this. She wore her long, honey blond hair in a pair of finely woven braids that joined together at the back of her head to form a single, intricate braid that left her long, finely pointed ears in plain view. It didn’t bother her much that other races had mixed feelings about Elves. Between their long lives and the fact that they had once abandoned this world only to return more recently and demand their old homelands and cities back, it was no wonder that others distrusted them a little. She was proud of her ancestry and she wasn’t about to hide it even if it meant she might not get picked at the Call of Heroes.

Arriving early, she had planned to position herself strategically to scope out the competition. Ideally, she would have preferred a dark corner on a second floor for her vantage point but, the Wizard’s Grace didn’t have a second story that overlooked the common room so she was forced to mingle with the crowd. The Kyonin woman wasn’t particularly fond of crowds now that she had given up picking pockets for more honest work but it was still easy for her to spot those who still plied that particular trade. She also had a keen sense of smell and, truth be told, many of the more martial types wore an unpleasant odor of sweat, blood, and sometimes even death.

Maneuvering through the crowd was not difficult, Arisa was thin and lithe but wiry with a hidden strength that others sometimes underestimated. She was also very nimble and moved with a feline-like grace, her petite body wrapped in form-fitting, studded leather armor to avoid accidentally catching on people or objects. Her left arm was bare with only a leather cuff around her wrist that marked her as a practiced archer. At her slender hips, hung a pair of worn leather sheaths, one thin and long obviously made for a rapier judging by the ornate basket hilt showing at the top, the other a dagger. A slight bulge along the calf of her knee-length, soft leather boots indicated she might have at least a second dagger on her.

Her cloak was no more than a half-cloak coming down to her thin waist to avoid potentially impeding her movement.  Today she had the hood thrown back, her large, almond-shaped, turquoise eyes constantly scanning the crowd. If not for her exotic looking eyes and ears, she could easily be mistaken for a young, Human girl with her youthful appearance, small nose, and lightly-tanned complexion that belied the fact that she was certainly older than most if not all of the other people in the room.

As she made her way through the crowded room, a glass of dandelion wine in one long, fingered hand, Arisa spotted a large Human Warrior, probably a mercenary judging by the condition of his mis-matched armor, standing against one wall. He was shoveling stew-soaked bread into his mouth and ordering more from a passing bar wench. He didn’t seem to notice a swarthy-looking, Human boy eyeing him up but she knew that look and timed her arrival to coincide with his. Grabbing the would-be pick pocket by the wrist, she gave it a twist and swung him past them both with a shake of her head that said, “not today”.

Twisting her hips, she finished her maneuver beside the big man, her back pressed against the wall. At first she said nothing, taking a sip from her long-stemmed glass and silently watching the crowd. Her full lips were twisted in a little smirk as she waited to see if the Warrior realized what she had just done for him.

”So, I assume you are here for the Call for Heroes,” she said, her lilting voice breaking her silence, ”this is my first time. Do you know how this whole thing works?”.