airwalkrr
Adventurer
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The dark clouds roil overhead after a brief flash of lightning illuminates the sky. Several seconds later the crackling rumble of thunder fills the air with its deafening sound. A solitary cloaked rider dashes down a lonely road below, the wind whipping his cloak to and fro as he hurries to outrun the coming storm. Ahead he spies a hostel and rushes toward it with all haste.
Soon he arrives, the air now churning all about him with a fine mist of light rain beginning to fall all about. He ties up his horse under an awning, the best shelter for the beast since there is no proper stable nearby, and then he darts past a sign painted with a green leaf and pipe to head inside.
An elder goodwife with auburn-gray hair tied up and skin stretched tight around her bony arms comes up to the traveler, offering to take his cloak, but he politely declines her request and simply asks for a place to bed for the night. A few coins exchange hands and the goodwife leads him down the hallway to an open room with a bed and a lamp stand. It is simple, but it is all that is available. The goodwife leaves the traveler bidding him good night and goes back to her husband to tell him to prepare for an additional guest for the morning.
The thunder roars, shaking the hostel and giving all within a tremble. The storm is one of the worst seen in years. Again the flash of lightning followed almost immediately by a thunder crack overhead. The storm is close now. The wind howls with a fury not known in recent memory by any within and the walls of the hostel creaks and groans against it. Another bright flash upon the windows, more blasting sound and wind beating upon the sole building for miles. Then it all goes quiet. For a brief moment none is heard but the gentle patter of rain upon the roof, but it does not last. A sound like none before is suddenly heard, a piercing cry that rocks the hostel more greatly than the thunder, if indeed it were possible.
The goodwife and her husband follow the sound down to the hall where the guests are quartered. They find first that the room of the cloaked traveler lies open, the traveler nowhere inside. They next find open the door to the room adjacent to the cloaked traveler, which held a young man, traveling with his only daughter to the city to look for work. This room is not empty. The man's daughter huddles frightened in the corner, tears streaming down her face as she points to the bed where her father lies as if tossed upon it sideways. The goodwife screams in terror as she takes in the sight and grips her husband's arms. The young man's eyes and ears have bled all upon his shirt and bedspread. He is lifeless. Next to him is a small box of ashwood banded with iron. It lies open and empty.
The traveler is nowhere to be found, and his horse has disappeared, almost as if it were never there to begin with.
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The County of Macea, a small region that lies on the western coast of Khareb, is a place of fierce individualism, prideful boasting, and also a penchant for stirring up regional trouble. Here in Macea, people are forthright about their opinions on politics, religion, and war, and the discussion often spills over into neighboring countries with disastrous results. Although the county is ostensibly a part of the much larger Republic of Berandal, the people of this country see themselves as quite independent of the central government in Belind (Berandal's capital).
The priesthood of Bahamut has been particularly zealous in its work here, and several temples have sprung up throughout the land with quite a suddenness. Some balk at the worship of a dragon god, while others preach the "superior morality" upon which it is founded. It has caused a great deal of consternation as Count Hasjari, the democratically-elected governor of the region, has recently announced his conversion to this new faith. Some consider it scandal. Others say it is merely a political move. However there are those who embrace it as a welcome change to the old religious ways.
It is in this place you have come to seek adventure, for Macea is a true frontier land. At the central city of Manas, there is a great deal of activity. It is apparent that the local economy is booming with large numbers of prospectors, suppliers for outlying towns, and all other sorts of tradesmen have set up shop here to deal with the great influx of explorers and colonizers who seek to expand into the wide great beyond.
You have found yourself in an establishment known as the Rushing Boar. It is a tavern and inn located on the outskirts of the city that caters to those with highly mobile lifestyles. Though you have been staying here a week, you have rarely seen the same tenant stay the night twice. The tavern area is always filled with a variety of patrons, most of them from different parts of the country. You have chosen this place in hopes of meeting someone with work commensurate to your talents. It is this day you have arranged an appointment with a half-elf by the name of Celen. You expect him to arrive soon to present you with a job offer of an unknown nature.
In the meantime you have the opportunity to chat up the bar wench, Kastra, a lovely girl with bright red hair and a few freckles on her face and upper chest. She is happy to speak with you as she brings you your drinks.
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