The world of Dawnforge is a mythic land rich The world of Dawnforge is a mythic land rich in magic and wonder where great empires clash, intrepid explorers journey beyond wild frontiers, and mighty heroes brave epic dangers. It is a land where familiar and beloved races and archetypes are reaching the pinnacle of their glory and wonder. It is a vast and rich realm where newborn nations are still islands of civilization in a dark and unexplored wilderness sea. The world of Dawnforge is a land where the greatest deeds have yet to be done and epic heroes are wrought in the crucible of legend.
Depending on your character's current location, the following post occurred somewhere between the months of Cerbeth and Úrui.
You were walking from your lodgings or to the local tavern when, without warning, something soft and light dropped from the sky and landed on your head with a "plop." You looked up to see a brightly colored parrot 10 feet overhead. If parrots could smile, you'd swear it looked very pleased with itself.
Reluctantly, you raised your hand to feel the top of your head. To your surprise, it was dry. The parrot laughed raucously and turned off toward the east. Looking down, you notice a rolled parchment tied with a stout cord. The back of the parchment is closed with a large blob of wax pressed with a seal. Picking it up, you broke the string and read it.
The parchment appears to be an invitation of sorts and reads the following:
To those Brave and Worthy;
May it never be said that the courageous undertake valor for the hope of reward nor the righteous seek purity and thus may aspersions of evil never fall upon thy name. But, as ye know too well, the rewards of virtue are painful and cold.
Our advisors, through wisdom and sagacity have proclaimed thy actions good and virtuous, done for the wealth and benefit of the people of House Hawthorn. Those so noble as yourselves will grace and ornament the presence of any gathering. We beseech you to kindly honor us with your presence during the Festival of Songs at Harvest Manor in the city of Saranor.
Jin Hawthorn
CEO
Hawthorn Enterprises
Please check for PM's as some of you will receive one. I will give you ample time to post your replies before continuing on as if you have accepted the invite and have traveled to the city of Saranor. FYI the Festival of Songs takes place in a little over a month's time, just enough for each of you to arrive safely to attend.
By all means feel free to ad-lib and post as if you were also explaining what it was that you have been doing for the past THREE MONTHS.
This way I can get a feel for what for your character's own motivations, hopes, ideals, interests, etc. All of which I might very well incorporate into your campaign adventures. An example of this was Faldrin's interest in wanting to spend a good amount of time training the wild dogs. Another was Solia's interest in lockpicking, Kharn's in becoming a guard for Hawthorn, etc. For now the floor is yours, Enjoy!
Last edited by Eanwulf on Mon May 26, 2008 2:56 am, edited 1 time in total.
Kharn pondered his odd invitation for many hours before finally deciding to accept it. Even though his superiors had granted him a personal leave of absence substantial enough to safely attend and return from the festival, the young minotaur couldn't help but feel guilty for leaving his new job so early in his career.
His role in clearing the caverns for Hawthorn Enterprises had secured him a position within the Mercantile House and the young warrior had spent the past three months serving as a guardian escort for whatever caravans that might have needed him. In those short months, Kharn had excelled greatly. Already he had managed to achieve the rank of Corporal and had earned the respect of his fellow soldiers.
Kharn's immediate supervisor was a hugely muscled ogre named Mamoon. The two had become vast friends over the months and both enjoyed making boastful jabs and puns about who was the next to advance in rank. This sort of playful banter helped to pass the time and ease the monotony of an otherwise boring existence.
I wanted to buy a masterwork breastplate for Kharn to represent some form of militia armor. I figure he would wear the breastplate when on land and his studded leather when aboard ship. Total cost should be 550 gp. 400 gp for large size + 150 gp for masterwork item.
Kharn spent his remaining days wisely, spending them guardian whatever convoy or caravan that might be headed in the same direction as the one he needed to travel in order to reach the city of Saranor. The large warrior disliked being idle and wanted to make sure that his superiors knew that he was still serious about maintaining the position that they have so graciously given him.
Hopefully Kharn can save some cash by working on a boat/caravan headed east towards Saranor. If not, he will travel as far as he can as a guard and then on his own or even tag along with any non-House caravan that might need a guard. (heh he's moonlighting)
Faldrin had spent the better part of a month at the site of the future mine, working with Ariah to clean the dog pack, get them used to having people around, and train them in the tasks necessary to guard the mine from danger. The latter part of this time was spent working with what members of the team sent from House Hawthorne seemed most willing to care for the dogs.
In between the training had been a fair amount of time in the woods surrounding the sinkhole. In part this was to hunt '€" for he, Ariah, the dog pack, and the people who had come from Riversend all needed to eat. And fresh meat was always welcome. Also, if the dogs were to become guards for the mine, the men they guarded would be responsible for feeding them. And Faldrin intended for that to be established from the beginning.
But also, these excursions allowed the elf time to look for whatever healing herbs he could find - for he had also promised the shaman in Riversend that he would look for such herbs during his journey. He did this with the understanding that most of what he found would be relatively common, though he had hopes, given the remoteness of the woods, that some less common herbs would also be evident. Still, he knew that everything he brought to the shaman would be appreciated. And what she did not need, she could sell to support her hospice.
Once the dogs were settled, however, and the mine construction was fully begun, Faldrin had no further need to stay. And so he returned to Riversend with a regular supply train, begging space on one of the now-empty supply mules for the piles of dried herbs he carried.
Faldrin would spend longer at the mines if that was necessary to get the dogs settled in.
Also, he would make at least some noises about additional compensation for him and Ariah for providing the mine with a set of guardians. He won't push it too far, since his primary goal is to make sure the miners care for the dogs. But it was above and beyond what they were hired for, so it might be something they could get extra compensation for.
There he returned to the shaman, giving her, as a gift, the bulk of the healing herbs he had found. He also begged her leave to stay for a longer time that she might fully examine him, and he might fully examine the book she had.
The weeks passed quickly for him, and almost without thinking became two months. Faldrin spent much of his time talking to the shaman about herbs, and how they differed in Anderland and the Sildanyr Forest. But he also told the old woman of his life there, and listened to stories of her life and that of her family, including her great, great grandson in the Panthic Order in Ebernath.
Faldrin also helped her with the hospice she ran. No one could question her skills as a healer, he knew. But she was definitely old, and so there was much she could not do. So he worked to provide what her frail body could not. He made repairs, gathered supplies, tended to patients, and worked to prepare the place for when he would inevitably have to leave, though he couldn't say when that would be. For to an elf, the passage of a few months was not so long.
The time in Riversend is in part to give the shaman a chance to fully examine Faldrin, and give him time to fully peruse the books she has.
Also, I want to pick up a few scrolls. I'll get back to you about that.
Solia is ecstatic to receive her invitation to attend the Festival of Songs and wastes no time in making the necessary preparations to travel to the city of Saranor. The young rogue has spent the past several months in insensitive training within her guild. Her mentor Sebric, a harsh and rather demanding teacher, has taught her much during the time and she is quite eager to put her newfound skills to the test. She makes sure that she RSVP's her invitation as soon as possible and scours the markets for appropriate attire to wear.
I reckon I will break down and buy an expensive, not to mention provocative, dress to wear for the event. In addition I will make sure that Solia pays whatever guild dues are required, etc. Just give me an amount and I will deduct it from her gold. I have no idea if the others will be attending but if I can find out that they are, Solia will buy gifts for Faldrin and Kharn. Perhaps an armor repair kit or even some serrated horn caps for Kharn and some woodland talisman or hunting kit for Faldrin. Once again, give me an amount and I will deduct it accordingly. Otherwise, Solia will spend her money wisely, making sure that she has enough to book proper passage to Saranor, etc.
The boisterous sounds of rowdy cheers and laughter echoed throughout the smoke-filled tavern. A large group of bystanders gawked and gathered around two of their fellow patrons. The first was a grizzled, dour looking dwarf, while the other was a rather large and stout man of Trueborn heritage. It seemed that the two were involved in a rather intense drinking game and from the sounds of the surrounding spectators; it might carry on for quite some time.
A slightly disgusted look overcame the dwarf's face as he drew a shot glass of clear liquid closer to his lips. 'œOi, I still can't believe that your people make this stuff from nothing but taters! What did you call this foul tasting brew again?' The dwarf then winced and gagged as he drained the contents of his drinking glass in a single quaff.
The large man merely grinned as the bartender poured him a large mug of some form of a foamy and heady brew. 'œIt is called wodka comrade and I only said that it was originally made from potato. Now my people use barley and wheat to make it much easier to drink.' The large man seized the mug up in his meaty fist and exclaimed. 'œI must admit though, your Thunder Laeger is mighty good drink, but me thinks that it tastes like bath wash compared to my wodka.' He then drained the mug in nearly a single gulp and belched loudly.
The crowd roared with excitement as the two continued on with their game. After several minutes on intense drinking an armored man approached the two, exclaiming the following to the large man. 'œAlexei! We've just received word that they are in need of help in Larakis. Braden and the rest are making preparations to sail at first light. What say ye friend, are you in?' The large man wiped the foam from his braided beard and belched once more before replying. 'œDah, I have heard the same comrade. Alas, an old friend has invited me to attend a festival in Saranor and I can not make it. Extend my apologies to Braden and take care. I shall send word when I am done.' The armored man looked somewhat dejected but seemed to understand. He nodded and then replied, 'œI understand friend. You take care and drink one for me while your there. Until our paths cross again Alexei.' The armored man then departed.
Once the man had left, the contest continued on well into the wee hours of the morning. The large man Alexei finally won the friendly wager and then promptly staggered off to his room.
Greetings everyone! My name is James and I will be joining the group as a Alexei Malenkov, a Trueborn Disciple. If what Rob has told me is true, I will be taking over Ariah's slot in the party. I look forward to gaming with you all!
Ivanneth, CY 997
Realm of Ambria, City of Saranor Just Outside the City Gates
Welcome to Saranor: The Festival of Songs to be held this week.
So read a sign on the outskirts of this large, stone-walled city of 30,000 or more inhabitants. The watch seemed active on the walls and towers surrounding the city, but the gate stood open. Soldiers with swords and spears lounged near the entrance. They wore tabards of green and yellow with a device of a large golden tree upon the front. Beyond the gate was a wide cobblestone street. It was choked with people. Most dressed in their best clothes and many wore brightly-colored outfits. Jugglers and fire-eaters were scattered throughout the crowd. The noise from whistles, drums, singing, and happy chatter made normal talk difficult. There was an open friendliness about the city, making it seem a good and cheerful place to live.
As you entered the city, the guardsmen gave a cursory inspection and charged you two silver pieces each to enter - a tax for the guilds and free peoples of Saranor. A tough, bearded old fellow looked you over more carefully than the others. 'œThere be law in this town - good law made by good people. Remember that, friend, and thou shalt profit from good advice. Mock my words and thou shalt see what a cold, wet gaol we can fix for thee. Aye, this whelp looks troublesome to mine eyes.'œ
These last words were spoken to the other guardsmen.
Beyond the gate swirled a crowd of people. Mud churned up by stumbling dancers caked on the crowd's hoots. People jostled each other, straining for a look at acrobats, knife-throwers, dancing hears, and minstrels. The smells of sewage, grilled meats, breads, sweat, and wine mingled in a strange, but inoffensive odor.
When you reached the manor, servants met you at the entrance to take your horses. In the doorway appeared Ulno Tullwater, Porfus Crudel, and the Most Worthy Jin Hawthorn herself! She was a tall woman of middling age, well dressed. As she spoke to you, it was easy to see that she is a gracious lady.
'œWhy, greetings, wayfarers! Welcome to my hearth and home. Most guests will not arrive for another day, but some have come before you. I am Jin Hawthorn, and I welcome you warmly to Harvest Manor. Would you be weary of road and riding, and wish a hot bath? Of course!' She clapped her hands and more servants appeared. 'œYou heroes have two rooms among you '€" the Manor will be crowded this week - these servants can show you the way. Be well!' Madame Hawthorn then turned and bustled away, busy with preparations.
Each of you arrive in Saranor in Anderland during the Festival of Songs, a week-long annual event in which musicians from all over the world vie for golden laurels and the finest masterwork instruments. The Festival is truly a joyous time. Merchants from far and wide crowd the markets to hawk their goods. Crowds throng the streets in celebration. Musicians, jugglers, acrobats, mimes, and poets perform in the taverns, in the markets, and on the greens. Ale and wine flow. The scents of people and food hang thick in the air.
Each of you have arrived sometime roughly within the latter part of the week of Ivanneth the 16th through the 22nd. Since the autumn equinox occurs either on the 23rd, the Festival itself occurs from the 23rd until the 29th.
Once each of you had properly settled in, you were informed that your presence was required at a formal dinner which would take place on the evening of the 22nd of Ivanneth. The dinner itself was held within Harvest Manor's Grand Banquet Hall and each of you spent most of the time getting reacquainted with your former companions.
You were informed that Ariah was unable to attend, due to personal reasons. Those of you that had gotten to know the man soon remembered that the young shaper had hailed from Saranor and had experienced rather severe personal differences with his family. Sadly, his presence was sorely missed.
The affair itself was a splendorous one to behold. The banquet so extravagantly prepared for you included dishes from the far corners of the realm. The entertainment was equally as exotic. Ulno and Porfus were your initial hosts as was a young man who was introduced as Jin Hawthorn's eldest son and heir to the Hawthorn Empire, one Lucien Hawthorn. Jin Hawthorn herself even managed to make an appearance. A proper host, she toasted her guests graciously and thanked each of them for attending the festival. As the dinner winded to a close, she politely dismissed her company, asking several of you remain seated in order to discuss '˜personal matters'.
In addition to Faldrin, Gronn, Kharn, and Solia; Ulno, Porfus, Jin and a large blonde trueborn were asked to stick around.
Once the banquet hall had thinned itself of guests, Jin Hawthorn had her servants poor each of you a crystal goblet of her famous house special; a thick crimson colored drink known as Dorlian Bloodwine in the common tongue. She then raised her glass aloft and toasted your group, exclaiming the following.
'I have asked each of you to stay in order to bestow my thanks and gratitude for your services rendered in the fair city of Riversend. Porfus here has told me of your exploits and I wanted to take the time to give each of you the proper recognition you are due. I will have you know that the caverns have been thoroughly excavated and construction has already begun on the mine itself! If you would be so kind as to check with Porfus, we shall make sure that we know where it is that we might be able to reach you in order to start sending you your monthly stipends.'
Madame Hawthorn then raised her glass to the newcomer of the group.
Seated at the table was a large, staunch man of obvious Trueborn descent. He was clad in dark steeled armor, etched with a delicate pattern of copper inlay and bore a great steel mace of similar design. Beneath his armor he wore a padded surcoat of deep green. Over all of this he wore a great cloak fashioned from numerous wolfskins. The man was well-weathered and wore his long blonde hair braided, as did he his beard. The latter was fastened with numerous rings of copper and gold that jingled slightly as he laughed. The man's rugged good looks called back the memory of the heroes of old.
'I would now have you meet Alexei Malenkov of Taloria. I do not know if any of you have heard, but it was Alexei whom successfully managed to safely locate and return the recently kidnapped son of one of our House's esteemed Barons. He is among the most honest and hardworking of folk we have had the honor and privilege of working with. As for you Alexei, these are the brave folk who I discussed with you about earlier. They were among the ones so kind enough as to assist us with the cavern affair I have just mentioned previously. I pray that each of you will now take the time to get to know one another.'
As the group began to make small talk, Jin raised her glass one final time, stating.
'If you would all now be so kind as to excuse me, I have much to attend to and there are still guests arriving as we speak. I pray that you find your stay here among us here at Harvest Manor a pleasant one. Know that the week ahead will hold many surprises and much good fortune for you all. Please enjoy, but for now I must bid you goodnight.'
Hawthorn then departs from the hall, leaving you to your own affairs.
I will allow a brief pause for player responses before continuing on with the plotline. Until then'¦
Last edited by Eanwulf on Thu Aug 23, 2007 8:12 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Kharn does his best to act as formally as he can during the banquet. Though the young minotaur knows little of the ways of social etiquette, he now considers himself to be is a guard under the employ of House Hawthorn and has quite a difficult time comprehending how to properly behave. One side of the warrior wishes to cut loose and enjoy the feast as much as possible. The other part of him however, has grown accustom to taking orders and acting in an appropriate soldier fashion. Kharn's behavior during the affair in turn, is an odd mixture of refrained leisure. He does however show his hosts the utmost of respect and extends his gratitude wholly and earnestly.
Kharn is polite and downright formal during the dinner. If others in the group try to initiate contact with him, he will make conversation, going so far as to shake their hand or even raise a toast in their honor. Otherwise, however he is oddly quiet and reserved, his mind being on trying to remember proper protocol and the like. The poor guy is trying his best to impress his bosses.
For those that know her, they will soon realize that Solia enters the room wearing an elaborate silken dress. This act in its own right appears to be nothing short of a miracle. Though the young saltblood normally dresses provocative, her clothing tends towards either leather breeches or silken pantaloons. When she enters the banquet hall in her evening gown, she is indeed a sight to behold. The dress itself is fashioned from the richest of silk and is embroidered with white satin lace. A deep azure in color, the dress is revealingly low-cut in the front and fits the young saltblood like a second skin.
Upon spotting her companions, Solia quickly rushes over to them; giving each a tight hug around the neck followed up by a gentle peck on the cheek. She then insists that all of them sit together at a single dinner table, going so far as the bribe the servants if need be. She then persists on each of them telling her what it is that they have been up to these past months. As for herself, the young rogue states that she has been busy with guild-life and has had little time for any personal leisure; this festival being the first event she has been able to attend since they had parted company.
Solia brings with her a hearty appetite for both food and drink, though she is careful not to ruin her new dress by partaking of them. She grows downright giddy when Madame Hawthorn breaks out the Dorlian Bloodwine and enjoys several goblets full for herself. She shows a great interest in getting to know the new addition to the group, Alexei Malenkov, and spends several hours listening to his past exploits before informing him about herself. All in all the young rogue is glad to be back in the group and looks forward to the week ahead of them.
YAYE!!! We're back together again! Solia will inform Kharn and Faldrin that she has brought them presents. For Kharn, I have purchased him a set of masterwork serrated horn caps, engraven with the Hawthorn coat of arms as well as his lineage (assuming he has already told me, minotaurs being proud and what not). For Faldrin, I have purchased him a masterwork fletching kit as well as a basic survival/hunting kit, two things I think he will like and enjoy.
Alexei enjoys himself immensely. The large trueborn spends much of his time drinking and feasting as well as spinning elaborate tales of high adventure. Most of the disciple's stories deal with his own personal past exploits. All of which seem to have been done in the name of his patron, one Fejjil Goldhair. According to Alexei, Fejjil Goldhair is a Trueborn hero of great renown. A legend in his own rights, Fejjil is rumored to have been born well over four hundred years ago and it is said that the hero is rumored to have fought under the standard of King Enir himself.
As the party winded down to a close, Alexei's demeanor becomes much more professional and businesslike. He patiently waits for Madame Hawthorn to make her necessary introductions and to conclude her speech before resuming his otherwise jovial demeanor. Once left to his own devices however, Alexei wastes no time trying to get to know his strange and newfound group of companions.
While most of the dinner guests appear to be rather reserved if not wary of Faldrin, Alexei seems unaffected by the elf's presence. The large trueborn has already had the pleasure of traveling with an elf in the past and knows all too well the talents that they possess. Alexei treats Faldrin with friendly respect and does his best to test the elf's mettle with simple conversation. Overall the large trueborn merely wishes to get a feel for the elf's character as a whole.
The looming form of Gronn the ogre proves to be quite the enigma to Alexei at first. How is it that such a large, powerfully-muscled individual as the one standing before him could wind up taking on the profession of a book-learned scholarly type pencil-pusher? Upon hearing Gronn's tales of his former life of slavery and of his daring escape however, Alexei quickly grew sympathetic to the young giant and tossed whatever reservations he might have had about the ogre right on out of the window.
Alexei quickly notices how rigid and out of place Kharn has appeared all evening and decides to help the young warrior fit in. The large trueborn breaks the ice by asking the minotaur to share with him any and all of his military exploits, however large or small they might be. Sure enough Alexei strikes a chord with the prideful Kharn and it is no time before the young minotaur is prattling away with tales of epic adventure and grandeur. The two then spend the next several hours reminiscing over past heroic deeds and discussing various battle stratagems. Overall the two seem to get along splendidly.
And finally, Alexei seems almost entranced with Solia's exotic beauty. For once in his lifetime, the large trueborn is at a loss for words. That is, he never can seem to find the right ones when around the young saltblood. Though he wishes nothing more to get better acquainted with Solia, Alexei just doesn't seem to muster up enough of a vocabulary to do so.
Ivanneth 25, CY 997
Realm of Ambria, City of Saranor Somewhere Along the City Streets
The last harvest of the summer has been brought in from the fields around Saranor. The storm season is not far away. Already, cooler air blows in from the Icehammer Front, and light rain showers are commonplace. Still, the worst of the weather waits for later months, and the citizens of Saranor revel in the annual Festival of Songs. The seasonal rites to the Green Man and Lady of Flowers are over. Crowds of locals and visitors throng the cobblestone streets and brightly festooned market squares. Hundreds of traveling entertainers and peddlers of all sorts have arrived in Saranor. The entertainers come to compete in the dozens of contests. The peddlers try to fill their pockets with coins by hawking their wares.
Your group has enjoyed the hospitality of Jin Hawthorn for the past three days. Though the time has passed quickly, the past several days have been spent quite to your enjoyment. Your gracious host has made sure that each of you has had an equal chance to participate in whatever entertainment and pleasures that the city of Saranor had to offer during the Festival of Songs. The following is an example of one such event.
The crowds begin to move toward the center of Saranor, where the ancient stone wall of the Old City squats sternly. Long ago, Saranor outgrew the confines of the wall. A veritable maze of cobblestone roads cut through densely inhabited neighborhoods of sod and timber buildings. Children, who are numerous in Saranor; race along happily. The air is charged with anticipation because Ogwald's Race is about to begin.
Ogwald Garstomper is one of Saranor's more successful and most famous citizens. A saltblood sea captain who more than a decade ago retired to enjoy his hard-earned riches, Ogwald sponsors his race each year during the Festival of Songs. The course, fraught with obstacles and made more exciting by the mandatory quaffing of large quantities of ale, attracts eager folk from throughout Anderland and beyond. Three contestants walk away from the race both drunker and richer for their troubles. First prize: a silver and ivory tankard. Second and third prizes: silver medallions.
A hush falls over the crowd as Ogwald stands before a large barrel of tiles, each one containing the names of this year's possible contestants. Everyone stands in eager anticipation as he then begins to draw forth the six lucky candidates.
'The first contestant is'¦Solia Tayhoj of the Dreaming Isles.'
'The second contestant is'¦Kharn Ehrenson of the Free City of Seaward.'
'The third contestant is'¦Lidda Nimblenock of the Faring Folk.'
'The fourth contestant is'¦Gronn, formerly of Tallidur.'
'The fifth contestant is'¦Alexei Malenkov of the Kingsmarch.'
'And the last contestant is'¦Faldrin Telumehtar of Sildanyr.'
The crowd roars with cheer and applause as each name is chosen from the barrel. The contestants chosen are then gathered together and explained the rules before being lined up along the starting line.
The name Lidda Nimblenock belongs to a rugged looking halfling woman of roguish demeanor.
I will allow a brief pause for player response to being selected and pre-race actions.
First off we must determine each of your character's Alcohol Tolerance levels. I recommend you read the Getting Drunk section of the House Rules Forum Thread. In a nutshell it breaks down as follows: Alexei 17, Faldrin 16, Gronn 15, Kharn 18, Lidda 20, Solia 15
Next is the race itself. Ogwald's race follows a path around the Old Wall, including a swim across a canal fed by the Netheryn River and a final dash on horseback to the finish line. Weapons, armor, and magic are not permitted. Ogwald's stables provide the horses for the final leg. Ogwald also has disciples stationed along the course of the race to administer healing to contestants who take a nasty fall. At certain stations along the course of the race, competitors must stop and down a tankard of ale (8 AU). This makes the race more difficult as the competitors proceed, since the amount of alcohol consumed invariably impairs performance. For each increment of the race, competitors will make a check of the appropriate type (Strength, Balance, Climb, Jump, Ride, and Swim. A running total of all checks will me kept. The highest totals show who among you is in the lead at any given point during the race.
This being said, sit back and enjoy. This should be fun!
