Book 1: Chapter 1 - A Game Afoot in Stormreach
Posted: Thu Oct 17, 2013 12:10 am
The mysterious continent of Xen'drik is a massive landmass that exists south of the continent of Khorvaire, beyond Shargon's Teeth and Thunder Sea. It has recently begun to be explored by agents of the Four Nations in hopes of making profit from the relics found there amongst other natural resources.
Hidden within the wild and untamed land are the desolate ruins of the ancient Giant Civilization. After battling the Quori the Giant Civilization was destroyed by the Dragon population of Argonnessen when they attempted to use their highly advanced devices to put down a elven slave revolt.
Aerenal Elves trace their origins to Xen'drik in the long forgotten past.
Xen'drik is now a continent mostly inhabited by drow, and degenerate Giants. It is a wild and untamed place with fabulous eldritch machines along with unimaginable treasures. It is still largely unexplored.
As soon as I saw the gnome, I knew trouble couldn't be far behind. It was only the merest glimpse of her, a flash of green somewhere out there in the lawless, jostling crowds of Stormreach's Harbor District, but that one glance was all I needed. I had most definitely not been looking for an adventure, not in this place. In the few months since my arrival, I had adopted the habit of keeping my head down and my hood up, covering the elven ears and blonde braid that attracted too much of the wrong kind of attention.
Even Mordimor clinging with a badger's tenacity to my shoulder seemed to elicit fewer stares than the sight of an unaccompanied woman, clearly neither pirate nor whore, walking these seedy streets. Life in Stormreach had taught me to keep my head down, my clothes baggy, my stride masculine, and my dagger close at hand.
But upon sighting that familiar, unmistakable green hair, I didn't hesitate to push through the hot spaces of the crowd to verify what I already knew instinctively. I had not seen Shess, nor any of my Breland friends, since we parted soon after docking in in Three Barrel Cove just north of Stormreach. The excited knot in my gut and the recklessness with which I made my way toward her-one knife-armed fishmonger threatened to gut me for treading on his bootless toe, and only a warning hiss from Mordimor backed him off-had undermined the lie I told myself whenever thoughts of my friends should intrude upon my work. I had missed them. It was that simple, and that honest realization felt like the first salve of comfort in a long summer of exile.
I also felt trouble in my bones, and the sight of Shess confirmed it.
She was marching with girlish enthusiasm at the head of a gang of some of the worst -looking wharf dogs I had ever laid eyes on. Even in a city that, in places, is little more than extended shore leave for the most nefarious, notorious, and downright depraved seamen in all of Khorvaire, Shess and her pack stood out. "Out the way, bilge drinkers!" Shess wailed. She had changed one set of outlandish finery for another since the last time I had seen her, clamping along in heavy hobnailed boots beneath the rough-cut hem of billowy silk pantaloons dyed a vibrant crimson. In contrast, a suit of corseted leather armor snugged and shaped her torso to exaggerated effect, calling to mind the sort of thing you might pay extra to see in the back room of a Lhazaar Principalities' temple. In her tiny fist she brandished a battered tricorne hat, and at her waist she wore the same short sword I had seen her use to such deadly effect when last we were in Sharn. Her face was red from
shouting. " Make way for the Char Street Clippers, you bunyip-lovin' sons of seacows!"
Two Hours After Breakfast, Wir, 11th of Aryth, 998, 2 years to the day after the signing of Thronehold Treaty.
It has been a little over two weeks since you officially became part of the Grey Company. Over the course of that time you've done all the necessary things asked of your to orient yourself with the policies and procedures of the company. There is a shocking great number of them, it seem Val'trith likes his i's dotted and his t's crossed. You've gotten a full tour of the Tower, at least of those areas open to your clearance level. You've even met most of the staff, and some of you have migrated to living in the barracks on premises.
Today is the two year anniversary of the Signing of Thronehold, which ended the Last War and set the world on Khorvaire right. You aren't on Khorvaire however, this is Xen'drik and the celebrations lack parades and the festivals are closed off in their small districts as all manner of factions and nations are present in Stormreach and not all of them get along. Still, the Grey Tower has veterans of the Last War and there is some pomp to be found, and the Drunken Shifter is open with its easy supply of Kurveya Gin.
You've been waiting for something to do, something exciting besides the occasional brawl that Benmarrow starts in the tavern. Maybe just maybe today will be that day.
Hidden within the wild and untamed land are the desolate ruins of the ancient Giant Civilization. After battling the Quori the Giant Civilization was destroyed by the Dragon population of Argonnessen when they attempted to use their highly advanced devices to put down a elven slave revolt.
Aerenal Elves trace their origins to Xen'drik in the long forgotten past.
Xen'drik is now a continent mostly inhabited by drow, and degenerate Giants. It is a wild and untamed place with fabulous eldritch machines along with unimaginable treasures. It is still largely unexplored.
As soon as I saw the gnome, I knew trouble couldn't be far behind. It was only the merest glimpse of her, a flash of green somewhere out there in the lawless, jostling crowds of Stormreach's Harbor District, but that one glance was all I needed. I had most definitely not been looking for an adventure, not in this place. In the few months since my arrival, I had adopted the habit of keeping my head down and my hood up, covering the elven ears and blonde braid that attracted too much of the wrong kind of attention.
Even Mordimor clinging with a badger's tenacity to my shoulder seemed to elicit fewer stares than the sight of an unaccompanied woman, clearly neither pirate nor whore, walking these seedy streets. Life in Stormreach had taught me to keep my head down, my clothes baggy, my stride masculine, and my dagger close at hand.
But upon sighting that familiar, unmistakable green hair, I didn't hesitate to push through the hot spaces of the crowd to verify what I already knew instinctively. I had not seen Shess, nor any of my Breland friends, since we parted soon after docking in in Three Barrel Cove just north of Stormreach. The excited knot in my gut and the recklessness with which I made my way toward her-one knife-armed fishmonger threatened to gut me for treading on his bootless toe, and only a warning hiss from Mordimor backed him off-had undermined the lie I told myself whenever thoughts of my friends should intrude upon my work. I had missed them. It was that simple, and that honest realization felt like the first salve of comfort in a long summer of exile.
I also felt trouble in my bones, and the sight of Shess confirmed it.
She was marching with girlish enthusiasm at the head of a gang of some of the worst -looking wharf dogs I had ever laid eyes on. Even in a city that, in places, is little more than extended shore leave for the most nefarious, notorious, and downright depraved seamen in all of Khorvaire, Shess and her pack stood out. "Out the way, bilge drinkers!" Shess wailed. She had changed one set of outlandish finery for another since the last time I had seen her, clamping along in heavy hobnailed boots beneath the rough-cut hem of billowy silk pantaloons dyed a vibrant crimson. In contrast, a suit of corseted leather armor snugged and shaped her torso to exaggerated effect, calling to mind the sort of thing you might pay extra to see in the back room of a Lhazaar Principalities' temple. In her tiny fist she brandished a battered tricorne hat, and at her waist she wore the same short sword I had seen her use to such deadly effect when last we were in Sharn. Her face was red from
shouting. " Make way for the Char Street Clippers, you bunyip-lovin' sons of seacows!"
Two Hours After Breakfast, Wir, 11th of Aryth, 998, 2 years to the day after the signing of Thronehold Treaty.
It has been a little over two weeks since you officially became part of the Grey Company. Over the course of that time you've done all the necessary things asked of your to orient yourself with the policies and procedures of the company. There is a shocking great number of them, it seem Val'trith likes his i's dotted and his t's crossed. You've gotten a full tour of the Tower, at least of those areas open to your clearance level. You've even met most of the staff, and some of you have migrated to living in the barracks on premises.
Today is the two year anniversary of the Signing of Thronehold, which ended the Last War and set the world on Khorvaire right. You aren't on Khorvaire however, this is Xen'drik and the celebrations lack parades and the festivals are closed off in their small districts as all manner of factions and nations are present in Stormreach and not all of them get along. Still, the Grey Tower has veterans of the Last War and there is some pomp to be found, and the Drunken Shifter is open with its easy supply of Kurveya Gin.
You've been waiting for something to do, something exciting besides the occasional brawl that Benmarrow starts in the tavern. Maybe just maybe today will be that day.