03-18-2004, 01:37 AM
Our heroes had journeyed for at least a year, seeking adventure in the lands to the southwest of the native Barbarian ranges. Taking passage on a ship, they had crossed the narrowest point of the gulf of Westmarch, and ventured south along the coastline, seeking adventure wherever it lay, serving as Mercenaries where required, foraging alone where necessary.
In time they reached the southern city of Duncraig and from there, booked passage to Kingsport. It was in Kingsport that they had heard their first whispers of it - rumors of dark troubles in the land to the east, a land known as Khanduras. The king of the land, a man named Leoric, had been known for his benevolence... but the tales told of his corruption... honor sullied by some evil force beyond imagining.
"Horrible, they say," said the hardy sailor, a swarthy Captain who was clearly from across the Twin Seas. The bar they were seated in was one of the most disreputable establishments, a dive along the dockfront known for it's chain gangs and assaults. Only the clear warrior appearance of the Barbarians kept the pair safe. "Leoric, the king of Khanduras, dead. The land has been overrun by evil, they say. Beasts beyond imagining, swarming from all manner of dark caves and crevasses. I'd not want to be anywhere near there."
Klup looked at him over the frothing rim of his ale. "I don't suppose you'd want to take us."
The Captain nearly spat out his ale. "My oath I wouldn't! Even if I was so inclined - which i'm not, i'm sure you'll understand - it's barely along my route. I'm headed to the shining jewel - that's Lut Gholein, out in the east of Aranoch on the edge of the Seas. There'd be hell to pay if I were late."
"We can make it worth your while. We seek adventure, fame -"
"- and fortune!" Klisk burst in, banging his flagon down on the table.
"I don't doubt it," said the Captain, mild in the face of Klisk's eagerness for battle. "But truth be told, I doubt you could afford what i'd ask - the pair of you have little more than your swords and that loincloth to your names." He gestured to the short red cloth, barely covering the bulky thighs of each Barbarian. "Besides," he added, a twinkle in his eye, "I already have one such fair. I'm dropping on the southernmost coast - he'll have to journey north to the heart of the accursed land. I doubt he'll get there in time to do anything but mop up."
He rose, clearly intending to end the discussion - but Klup reached out and grabbed his hand. "How much did he pay you?"
"Enough. And you're not the first to ask - I had to turn down a Bard this morning. You'll have to find another willing to take you - or walk."
Klup growled, his frustration clearly showing. Here was an opportunity, a chance to earn fame and fortune like so many others - and it was being denied by a stiff necked sailor. "Guess we'll do just that. And should we ever meet again, i'd expect you to pay me what this.. what did you call him-?"
"He's a warrior monk."
"- what this monk paid you... Captain.."
"Meshif," said the swarthy man. "Captain Meshif, of the Hellfire. Fastest ship in the twin seas. And if you can walk to Lut Gholein and meet me, i'll pay you that fare."
"Done." Klup grinned.
Act 1 - The Rogue Encampment
"Not much of a place, is it?" Klisk grimaced.
Kashya's welcome confirmed that simple assessment. "Well, if you two were wandering in the west for the past year, why didn't you fools come to aid us when our troubles began?" she demanded angrily.
"We would have," Klup responded, "but Hellfire was in a rush and couldn't include us."
"What?"
Klup turned his back and walked away, leaving the battle-commander of the Rogues in confusion. It was Akara, the spiritual leader of the Rogues, who was the first to tell the pair how they could begin to aid the Sisters in their time of need: there was an evil gathering in a den outside the camp. The rogues needed help, or they would surely be overrun.
Klup called to his brother. They had a job to do.