Post by Daston Whisperwind on Jun 8, 2014 19:02:10 GMT -6
It's a warm summer evening, close to perfect. A cool breeze blusters in from the northwest, carrying with it a promise of the encroaching autumn, but at the moment it simply brings you a welcome relief from the heat of the day.
After spending most of your summer delving into the deeps and dungeons beneath the land, you're just happy to be able to relax in the comforts of a word in which the sun sets and rises with some measurable regularity. For what seems like the first time in ages, you're not so worried about what might be lurking just around the corner or behind the next door as you are about the terrible prospect of draining dry the local tavern's stores.
You have just finished a marvelous dinner at the Stumble Inn. (The weathered wooden sign creaking over the door depicting a boot clad foot tripping over a lump of gold.) The Innkeeper and his wife -- Carbad and Kamalada, an honest pair of retired farmers and weather beaten as their place's sigh -- have hauled out their very best just for you. They know that you are restless to be on your way and that they aren't bound to have the pleasure of your company much longer.
Just as you are about to raise a toast to your deserving host, a rumpled shape staggers though the inn's open door.
Startled by the intrusion, but before you can act, the figure crumples to the floor. the innkeeper dashes over. "Marcaeus!" he gasps, and then looks back up at you, hi face filled with dread.
You rush to the fallen man's side. He's alive, but barely so. He literally been beaten within an inch of his life, and right leg is twisted at a decidedly uncomfortable angle.
You roll the man over on to his back, and he groans loudly as the bones in his battered leg crunch together.
His eyes flicker for a moment and then open wide. His gaze, clouded by his intense pain, fixed on you.
Just before he mercifully passes out, he reaches up and grabs you by the front of your shirt.
"My Son," he whispers though his battered lips, "They've got my son!"
Your host Xander gives you the task to save Marcaeus's son. But we must wait ask Marcaeus who or what took his son.
After spending most of your summer delving into the deeps and dungeons beneath the land, you're just happy to be able to relax in the comforts of a word in which the sun sets and rises with some measurable regularity. For what seems like the first time in ages, you're not so worried about what might be lurking just around the corner or behind the next door as you are about the terrible prospect of draining dry the local tavern's stores.
You have just finished a marvelous dinner at the Stumble Inn. (The weathered wooden sign creaking over the door depicting a boot clad foot tripping over a lump of gold.) The Innkeeper and his wife -- Carbad and Kamalada, an honest pair of retired farmers and weather beaten as their place's sigh -- have hauled out their very best just for you. They know that you are restless to be on your way and that they aren't bound to have the pleasure of your company much longer.
Just as you are about to raise a toast to your deserving host, a rumpled shape staggers though the inn's open door.
Startled by the intrusion, but before you can act, the figure crumples to the floor. the innkeeper dashes over. "Marcaeus!" he gasps, and then looks back up at you, hi face filled with dread.
You rush to the fallen man's side. He's alive, but barely so. He literally been beaten within an inch of his life, and right leg is twisted at a decidedly uncomfortable angle.
You roll the man over on to his back, and he groans loudly as the bones in his battered leg crunch together.
His eyes flicker for a moment and then open wide. His gaze, clouded by his intense pain, fixed on you.
Just before he mercifully passes out, he reaches up and grabs you by the front of your shirt.
"My Son," he whispers though his battered lips, "They've got my son!"
Your host Xander gives you the task to save Marcaeus's son. But we must wait ask Marcaeus who or what took his son.