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<blockquote data-quote="jbear" data-source="post: 5166206" data-attributes="member: 75065"><p>Why do so many stories start in bars? Dark, seedy bars full of smoke, sweat and forget? Maybe it's because when you are desperate, when you don't know where to find solace, you look for it at the bottom of a bottle. Maybe it's the fact that so many stories do begin there, that desperate people go to the bar to find themselves a story, a different story. Something new, a change of direction. The reason why in the end makes no difference. The fact of the matter is that this story begins just there, in one of those bars. And amongst the smoke, the smell and the desperation, there sit our protagonists, waiting for a story to begin. They've arrived at the same place, at the same time, for very distinct reasons, each of them with their own story safely tucked away in their pocket. They have never met before but they do have a few things in common. For example, they've all spent there last copper coins on warm, watered down beer and a dinner that tastes of rotten rat. Also when tomorrow comes, none of them will have a place to sleep, and with the winter cold quickly closing in, none of them were in a good mood. But all that changed as soon as the merchant opened the door.</p><p> </p><p>The merchant didn't fit in a place like this, nor did his clean and elegant clothes, nor his relaxed smile, full of confidence. A certain spark of amusement danced in his strange eyes, something alive and defiant. In this back-alley, dead-beat shithole excuse for a bar, his musical voice cut like a knife down glass.</p><p>-'Good day, my most esteemed ... gentlemen. I'm looking for messengers. The task is simple and the pay is good. 20 suns now, and 30 more when the message is delivered... per head. Of course, I'm only looking for people of certain ability. I don't want the message to get lost along the way, shall we say'</p><p>He said it smiling. He said it as he took out a pouch that tinkled, full of coin. An error. An error far too obvious for someone with such an intelligent look.</p><p>-'And what if I just picks that money off your dead body?', shouted one of the thugs sat at a table in a shadowy corner. It wasn't a question as such, more like a declaration of intent. He stood up, a hairy trunk with death drawn in his eyes. Six others stood with him. The merchant didn't flinch, as though he was expecting it.</p><p>-'and 50 more to those that protect me now.'</p><p>Everything happened very quickly. The song of swords, knives and magic. Light, darkness, confusion. The dance of death. The floor bathed in beer and wine tinged red. The thugs fell dead, one after the other, spilling their blood into a swelling pool. They fell beneath the hammer of a metal giant. They fell beneath the flaming sword of an earth gladiator. They fell beneath the lethal arrows of a wild elf and the sharp blade of a thief that surrounded them in impenetrable shadows. And when those that remained still alive turned to flee, they met with a four foot high wall of furious dwarf, screaming prayers charged with divine power. One of the survivors threw himself through a closed window. The other through his weapon to the ground, kneeled and begged for clemency. Without hesitation the metallic giant strode forward raising his heavy maul above his head.</p><p>-'I have no time for your whimpering, rat.'</p><p>Hell fell to the floor like straw, reuniting himself with his fellow dead. The other patrons had fled. The owner cowered behind the bar. The only noise was the solitary applause of the merchant.</p><p>-'I'm impressed. The job is yours.'</p><p>And so our protagonists met, and so began a new story, one they all had in common. One that would lead them down a road of danger and death.</p><p> </p><p>-'The job is easy,' he told them, handing over a sealed scroll with a rampant griffon etched into the purple wax. 'I need you to take this scroll to Saerb, a village to the north of Sembia. It's important you don't attempt to open it. It will ignite and the message will be lost. But before anyone takes it from you, destroy it.'</p><p>He gave them directions to the meeting point, the shoeshop of a fat man named Inius Olger.</p><p>'There is a tavern in front of the shoeshop. Wait there. When the cobbler lights the outside lantern, deliver the message to him. Here is half of your pay now. Inius will pay you the other half once the message is delivered. Go quickly, and try not to draw attantion to yourself.'</p><p>He laughed as he looked at the ragtag bunch that he had before him. A living mountain forged of metal. A dark elf, his skin black as night, his hair long and white. A wild elf, agile, beautiful with dangerous curves, yet with a strangely masculine air. A dwarf, made of feminine muscle and pride, armed to the teeth. And a genasi, an elemental creature made of fire and earth. Not exactly your most discrete of groups.</p><p>'Well, do what you can, in so far as not drawing attention to yourselves. May the wind follow you.' </p><p>He handed over the promised coin and without another word he left.</p><p> </p><p>_______________________________________________________________</p><p> </p><p>This is my first storyhour of my first 4e campaign. We began with the free module 'Escape from Sembia' (LFR), which is basically what I had access to at the time. The group began with an elven bow ranger, a warforged fighter, a genasi assault swordmage, a drow rogue and dwarvern cleric. The elf ranger was meant to be played by my brother-in-law but he pulled out on us at the last minute. My wife stepped in and took him/her over. The doubt as to her sexuality has remained ever since. I prerolled 15 pcs and let each player pick the one they liked the sound of most. All new players to dnd except my wife and one other who had played OD&D when he was a kid.So the backstories began pretty shallow. As new material came out and new players came and others went the characters and group makeup changed but I tried to explain it in-story. Anyway, it's late. We'll see how it goes.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="jbear, post: 5166206, member: 75065"] Why do so many stories start in bars? Dark, seedy bars full of smoke, sweat and forget? Maybe it's because when you are desperate, when you don't know where to find solace, you look for it at the bottom of a bottle. Maybe it's the fact that so many stories do begin there, that desperate people go to the bar to find themselves a story, a different story. Something new, a change of direction. The reason why in the end makes no difference. The fact of the matter is that this story begins just there, in one of those bars. And amongst the smoke, the smell and the desperation, there sit our protagonists, waiting for a story to begin. They've arrived at the same place, at the same time, for very distinct reasons, each of them with their own story safely tucked away in their pocket. They have never met before but they do have a few things in common. For example, they've all spent there last copper coins on warm, watered down beer and a dinner that tastes of rotten rat. Also when tomorrow comes, none of them will have a place to sleep, and with the winter cold quickly closing in, none of them were in a good mood. But all that changed as soon as the merchant opened the door. The merchant didn't fit in a place like this, nor did his clean and elegant clothes, nor his relaxed smile, full of confidence. A certain spark of amusement danced in his strange eyes, something alive and defiant. In this back-alley, dead-beat shithole excuse for a bar, his musical voice cut like a knife down glass. -'Good day, my most esteemed ... gentlemen. I'm looking for messengers. The task is simple and the pay is good. 20 suns now, and 30 more when the message is delivered... per head. Of course, I'm only looking for people of certain ability. I don't want the message to get lost along the way, shall we say' He said it smiling. He said it as he took out a pouch that tinkled, full of coin. An error. An error far too obvious for someone with such an intelligent look. -'And what if I just picks that money off your dead body?', shouted one of the thugs sat at a table in a shadowy corner. It wasn't a question as such, more like a declaration of intent. He stood up, a hairy trunk with death drawn in his eyes. Six others stood with him. The merchant didn't flinch, as though he was expecting it. -'and 50 more to those that protect me now.' Everything happened very quickly. The song of swords, knives and magic. Light, darkness, confusion. The dance of death. The floor bathed in beer and wine tinged red. The thugs fell dead, one after the other, spilling their blood into a swelling pool. They fell beneath the hammer of a metal giant. They fell beneath the flaming sword of an earth gladiator. They fell beneath the lethal arrows of a wild elf and the sharp blade of a thief that surrounded them in impenetrable shadows. And when those that remained still alive turned to flee, they met with a four foot high wall of furious dwarf, screaming prayers charged with divine power. One of the survivors threw himself through a closed window. The other through his weapon to the ground, kneeled and begged for clemency. Without hesitation the metallic giant strode forward raising his heavy maul above his head. -'I have no time for your whimpering, rat.' Hell fell to the floor like straw, reuniting himself with his fellow dead. The other patrons had fled. The owner cowered behind the bar. The only noise was the solitary applause of the merchant. -'I'm impressed. The job is yours.' And so our protagonists met, and so began a new story, one they all had in common. One that would lead them down a road of danger and death. -'The job is easy,' he told them, handing over a sealed scroll with a rampant griffon etched into the purple wax. 'I need you to take this scroll to Saerb, a village to the north of Sembia. It's important you don't attempt to open it. It will ignite and the message will be lost. But before anyone takes it from you, destroy it.' He gave them directions to the meeting point, the shoeshop of a fat man named Inius Olger. 'There is a tavern in front of the shoeshop. Wait there. When the cobbler lights the outside lantern, deliver the message to him. Here is half of your pay now. Inius will pay you the other half once the message is delivered. Go quickly, and try not to draw attantion to yourself.' He laughed as he looked at the ragtag bunch that he had before him. A living mountain forged of metal. A dark elf, his skin black as night, his hair long and white. A wild elf, agile, beautiful with dangerous curves, yet with a strangely masculine air. A dwarf, made of feminine muscle and pride, armed to the teeth. And a genasi, an elemental creature made of fire and earth. Not exactly your most discrete of groups. 'Well, do what you can, in so far as not drawing attention to yourselves. May the wind follow you.' He handed over the promised coin and without another word he left. _______________________________________________________________ This is my first storyhour of my first 4e campaign. We began with the free module 'Escape from Sembia' (LFR), which is basically what I had access to at the time. The group began with an elven bow ranger, a warforged fighter, a genasi assault swordmage, a drow rogue and dwarvern cleric. The elf ranger was meant to be played by my brother-in-law but he pulled out on us at the last minute. My wife stepped in and took him/her over. The doubt as to her sexuality has remained ever since. I prerolled 15 pcs and let each player pick the one they liked the sound of most. All new players to dnd except my wife and one other who had played OD&D when he was a kid.So the backstories began pretty shallow. As new material came out and new players came and others went the characters and group makeup changed but I tried to explain it in-story. Anyway, it's late. We'll see how it goes. [/QUOTE]
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