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Scales of War: DnD 4e PBF

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Summer has nearly passed. The nights are getting shorter now, and there's a crispness in the air that beckons autumn forward. It's a time of change. A time when people gather close, and get ready to hunker down against the encroaching cold. The last ditch efforts to prepare for harvests are beginning, while others turn to higher tasks.

A most humble beginning

Fate leads us onwards. We each have our own destiny to reach. It may be the Gods that drive us, or perhaps just our own wills. But we all have a moment in time we're straining to reach. For this reason, within days of each other five unlikely persons find themselves inside Elisir Vale, answering summons for reinforcements against enemies in the western mountains. It's not an uncommon event, these summons. But these people are special, somehow. Their stories are different. They unfold with a fluid grace unlike anything the townsfolk have ever seen.

The Master of Summons is - however - unimpressed. After looking you over, he snorts. "Finally, group of five. You will travel together to answer the summons. Average lot, though. You'll die within minutes. Anyway, fifty gold each of you for answering the summons. You'll get double that if you actually show up at Overlook. According to these official summons, you'll need to appear within 30 days of when I've sealed them."

His seal inks briefly upon each summons, and they are handed to you along with a pouch jingling with treasure. "Look, you show a bit more promise than most who come through here, so I'll give you a tip. Not a one of you will survive a minute against what's out in those mountains if reports are true. It's a five day's march to Overlook. I suggest you spend the remaining days doing the hardest training of your life. Now get out of here. New recruits don't show up while the old batch is still waiting around."

With that you are pushed out into the early evening air of Marthton. After a minute or two to spend your new wealth, you are encouraged to leave by the local militia. West appears to be the order of the day. The townsfolk you pass along the way indicate the Brindol is the closest and best place to stay the night.

The quick exit (being thrown out is perhaps more precise) from Marthton dampens the mood slightly, and none of you is quite keen to talk until the lights of Brindol are warming your path. The Guards stop you quickly, but displaying your official summons makes them wave you on. Finally, a rumbling from perhaps your most odd looking companion breaks your silence. "An Inn. You'll need to sleep."

The first Inn you find along the road is called the Antler and Thistle, and the common room is lively for this time of year. A whole seven customers can be sighted through the doors. Enter, adventurer, and claim your destiny!

Malek Deneith:
- "Ah, there seems to be one" - the one to break the silence before speaks again. He certainly isn't an everyday sight. Warforged. Living construct as they say, creations of one of past empires. Most of you probably have seen or heard of one, but having one in the group is a wierd occurance. And yet there is more to Graven, as he told you to call him, than to normal warforged. For one he looks old, older than most others - his body while still in working order, for lack of better term looks as if it was exposed to seasons for a long time. Then there are marks of battles past - curiously looking like wooden parts grew to fill the gaps - especially on his forehead where one such "healed wound" seems to cross some sort of rune orginally put there. And finally there is something about the way he talks - you could swear that his voice and way he speaks shifts sometimes.

- "Will it suffice for your needs?" - Graven asks his traveling companions.

--- Quote from: OOC ---Sorry for a bit ackward post, figured I'll give you people some description of character so that you know what you're walking with ;)
--- End quote ---

S.K. Ren:
 "It seems suitable." The human who spoke was a man with wavy black hair. He appeared young but he also looked very weathered, like at some point his life had been drained away, leaving him with a gaunt appearance. His eyes were also peculiar, for the iris of one was pure white and the the other was pure black. And although his body looked frail, he had an eerie resilience to him that made him hard to judge. His full name contains more than 300 syllables which he has never been allowed to finish reciting, so he allows most to call him Adis.

 He walked a few steps ahead of the group and stopped. With an abrupt turn, he queried, "Or would you prefer to keep walking?"

The young women who joined you shortly before conscripting quickly found her way to the corner of the room. At first glance, she could appear to be an ordinary human, a girl around twenty in age, of very small frame, and semi-short black hair, cut in mercenary fashion. Only at first, though, for taking a closer look revealed if not what she was, then certainly what she was not- human, for example. Her skin was unnaturally pale, to such point that it looked more like a parchment than actual tissue, giving her rather unpleasant, cadaverous demeanour, and sometimes you could swear that you saw her veins through it. To make matters worse, something about her seemed plainly 'wrong', though no one of you could explain what exactly.

And if not for these two rather unusual quirks, the enormous sword strapped to her back was a dead giveaway. No man (or women) of her frame should be able to carry such weapon, let alone swing it. Truth be told, it appeared more to be just rough-shaped lump of iron than an actual weapon. And judging from her wide collection of scars, the oversized blade was totally not for show, and she apparently was able to fight using it.

Not human for sure. And you had no clue from what species she hailed. And the lack of this knowledge was certainly not helped by her quite limited talkativeness.

An unkempt ball of hair, that some suspect to be halfling, energetically flitters to and fro, pausing on occasion to eat an insect or scratch places not worth dwelling on.
"Hrm? Inn? Nonono! Rah say keep going! We-"
An uncharacteristically loud squirgly noise erupts from the small halfling. He contemplates his stomach for a moment.
"Yah Inn good. Eats!"


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