Express2.0
First Post
The small town of Scalebane was more akin to a camp, in both appearance and demeanor. It seemed to almost squat upon the gentle grasslands of the Plain of Edora, hunkered down before a place still scarred from ancient conflict.
Few permanent structures existed for the nearly thousand or so inhabitants, though some could be seen in various stages of fabrication. Tents, ranging from modest squares of canvas to grand pavilions predominated, crowded together through a seeming random method of arrangement.
The place was raucous, loud. Near a corner of an ill defined path that passed as a street, a dwarven orator harangued a crowd over the rights of workers. Halflings carried bundles, chattering in a sing song dialect. Disparate races thronged around a half built shrine to Stern Alia as a fight broke out, and voices in various tongues could be heard eating, ordering drinks, bargaining, and cursing.
Scalebane was stirring to meet the morning.
Your escort, a rather laconic wood elf had been your sole companion for the many miles since he bore you a summons from your former teacher, Istvan. Despite whatever suspicions you may have had, the elf had done as he had promised and delivered you here, although no sign of your master or the reason for his summons was in the offing.
Even now, your mind boggles as to the reason Istvan would abandon his comfortable home in the heart of the Empire and come to such a rough hewn place best known for an ancient battle. But he is supposedly here; and now are you are, most assuredly.
You and your nameless escort navigate the twisting streets of Scalebane. You greet and avoid the smell of food and the stench of offal. You push past elves, dwarves, goats, dogs, and other sundry creatures until you arrive at the flap of large gray tent near the encampmets center.
Bade to enter, you see the tent is high peaked, and 60 feet square. A plain red carpet is spread upon the ground. You spy a small table with a decanter of wine and four clay cups. Several seating cushions of elven spun cloth and bedrolls are neatly stacked in a corner.
But no Istvan.
"Be comfortable." your escort says unsmiling. "Please wait here."
The tent flap closes as he leaves.
Few permanent structures existed for the nearly thousand or so inhabitants, though some could be seen in various stages of fabrication. Tents, ranging from modest squares of canvas to grand pavilions predominated, crowded together through a seeming random method of arrangement.
The place was raucous, loud. Near a corner of an ill defined path that passed as a street, a dwarven orator harangued a crowd over the rights of workers. Halflings carried bundles, chattering in a sing song dialect. Disparate races thronged around a half built shrine to Stern Alia as a fight broke out, and voices in various tongues could be heard eating, ordering drinks, bargaining, and cursing.
Scalebane was stirring to meet the morning.
Your escort, a rather laconic wood elf had been your sole companion for the many miles since he bore you a summons from your former teacher, Istvan. Despite whatever suspicions you may have had, the elf had done as he had promised and delivered you here, although no sign of your master or the reason for his summons was in the offing.
Even now, your mind boggles as to the reason Istvan would abandon his comfortable home in the heart of the Empire and come to such a rough hewn place best known for an ancient battle. But he is supposedly here; and now are you are, most assuredly.
You and your nameless escort navigate the twisting streets of Scalebane. You greet and avoid the smell of food and the stench of offal. You push past elves, dwarves, goats, dogs, and other sundry creatures until you arrive at the flap of large gray tent near the encampmets center.
Bade to enter, you see the tent is high peaked, and 60 feet square. A plain red carpet is spread upon the ground. You spy a small table with a decanter of wine and four clay cups. Several seating cushions of elven spun cloth and bedrolls are neatly stacked in a corner.
But no Istvan.
"Be comfortable." your escort says unsmiling. "Please wait here."
The tent flap closes as he leaves.
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