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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Fiasco" data-source="post: 2732816" data-attributes="member: 15187">Chapter 1Many hundreds of miles South and West of Vronburg, the sun rose over the sweat damped brows of peasants as they trundled their produce along the final miles to Halfast. The port city had a ravenous appetite, daily consuming the bounty that was brought to its markets from the surrounding lands. Accompanying the farmers on their trek were hundreds of pilgrims, eager to celebrate All Summers Eve within Halfast's walls. Throughout the city, carousers made their weary way home or collapsed where they were. Taverns kicked out the last of the revelers, welcoming the few hours of peace allowed them before fresh drinkers came pounding on their doors. Near the docks, sailors staggered green faced towards their berths, memories of the previous night blazed away in a frenzy of drinking and whoring that left their emotions and purses deflated. For residents and visitors alike, Halfast was a city of excess, a place beloved of Laster, god of vice. The numerous alehouses, whorehouses, drug havens and gambling dens were as living prayers to the licentious divinity, working day and night to bring temporary surcease to the worries of the world. It was to this city that Bastien of Yorath came looking for recruits in early low summer. The sprawling city saw visitors from all that remained of the old Convocation; natives of Guerney rubbed shoulders with gaunt faced visitors from the Fastness, who in turn bartered furiously with merchants, infrequently seen elves and whoever else might have what they sought on behalf of their beleaguered homeland. Halfast was rife with mercenaries and bravos, penniless nobles and sly dweomercrafters. Bastien's visit was timed to coincide with All Summers Eve, Laster’s most holy day. The city's populace was swelled by a great pilgrimage of the god's faithful, who yearly swarmed to the lusty port to partake in its fevered revels. This diversity of people had ensured an excellent selection of applicants for Bastien in previous years, during which he had recruited two very successful gladiatorial companies for his liege Baron Yorath. He hoped that by day's end he would find the seeds of a third.Bastien carefully negotiated his way through the filthy streets. Accompanying him was Kurul, a massive hound sent to accompany him at the whim of his lord. Seemingly indifferent to its surroundings, the beast was at his heels as they made their wending way to the Green Arms. This worthy establishment was a popular tavern famous for the pair of massive scrag arms displayed above its doorway. The knotted green limbs exuded power, their awesome girth inspired a feeling of frailty in even seasoned warriors. Magically preserved from decay, they were a decades old legacy of a brutal sea troll raid. Despite his fatigue, Bastien paused to admire the primitive majesty of the display before passing beneath them. To his travel worn spirits, the rough but honest hospitality and hearty provender of the inn was a welcome destination. Kurul followed, sniffing disdainfully at the threshold before shambling within. Baron Yorath had been generous with his coin, and Bastien didn't stint in availing himself of refreshment before setting to his important task.Midday had passed by the time Bastien arrived in Cassavary Square and was overwhelmed once more by the power of the stench that invaded his nostrils. Halfast's largest market thronged with near a thousand ill washed people as they sweated about their business. Adding to the miasma were livestock of every type, combining unpleasantly with the sharp scents of spices and herbs and the deep stink of ordure of uncertain origin. The catch of the day also added its ripe blend to the mix, as did, more noxiously, the catch of last week. Bastien dropped a copper common into the grasping hands of an avaricious stall holder and stepped up onto an empty wooden platform. Sweeping his calculating eyes across the crowd, he straightened his clothing and cleared his throat. He must work hard to make himself heard above the clamouring throng."I TELL A TALE SO BEND YOUR EAR, THE TALE I TELL YOU MUST NEEDS HEAR!” Bastien bellowed the ancient formula for opening a public address. Several heads turned his way, giving him encouragement to continue. "I require STOUT men of COURAGE and ENTERPRISE. Training and upkeep for the successful applicants, as well as the chance to take part in the GLORY of the gladiatorial games. I seek the best, so only the STRONG and the BRAVE need apply. Who seeks ADVENTURE? Who seeks WEALTH and FAME? Join with me for the chance to realise your DREAMS!"Passers by paused to listen to Bastien's missive before moving on. The market had upwards of a dozen such podiums and most were in use. Speakers recruited men for mercantile or mercenary causes, advertised goods or sought converts for various gods. One grizzled and spit flecked old man pleaded for volunteers to another Gerechian crusade. A long standing denizen of the markets, the holy fool was largely ignored, miraculously spared the persecution that others of that despised faith might have meted out to them. Bastien racked his voice in competition with the ruckus of the rival speakers and the madding crowds. Gradually his proclamations began to bear fruit. Amongst the merchants, peasants and riff raff who paused to hear his words, people of greater potential also gave ear to his broadcast. By the time his voice gave out, more than a dozen had registered interest, including a brace of petty nobles, some burly woodsmen and rarest of rare creatures, a gnome. These worthies were joined by less desirable elements such as beggars, ne'er' do wells and those types of mysteriously cloaked strangers who always seemed to haunt the formation of a new company. Each was given the same instruction; to report to the Green Arms that evening to listen to the terms in detail.</blockquote>

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