Hey everyone. Quick backstory for one of the two game edition we are launching….
Once more the violent winds of magic roil themselves into fever pitch, a tempest of energies barely seen but most assuredly felt in the physical realm. The howling gusts of magic blow from the whirling maelstrom of the Last stand. They collide with the magical currents of the great rift, creating a hurricane of magical instability. This unseen perfect storm is seen only as a colossal blizzard to those who do not have the sight. A mighty snow storm the like of which has seldom been seen since the dawning of the new world. Yet in the wind battered and snowy south eastern forest that crowds the city of Sloisa there is some small semblance of shelter from the snow to be found amongst the trees. However strange works are afoot, for the winds of magic oft times have a will of their own. Gathered about a small fire that struggles to fend off the cold there sat an exiled smuggler known as Antev Scholsov, caught out in the wild by the blizzard. There also sat two others, an architect, a girl of few years who calls herself Wilhelmina and holds a strange, long barrelled instrument in her lap and there beside her is a brute of a man, who would be imposing even devoid of his armour. A mercenary by trade who names himself Albut, cut off from his company first when a ghoule struck and killed his horse while he rode at the back of the column and second, once his hands were sticky and stained with the beast’s thick dark blood, the blizzard. There they sat and discussed how they must be away from that place. The ex-smuggler felt over exposed, desperate for a bolt hole within city walls, the architect reasoned that without proper shelter and the protection of what she called a Shard Sphere they would all be dead and cold by the following afternoon and the mercenary reasoned that there were many beasts and monsters abroad, some even more aggressive and abhorrent when the gigantic blizzards descended. So it was that the three of them decided to work together and aid each other so far as Sloisa.
The architect led the way, a dark, ruddy, orange light cutting through the darkness and dancing on the hardening snow banks. The smuggler came second, eyes darting about furtively and one hand bolted his dagger handle. The mercenary was at the rear, as it made the most sense for the most heavily armoured and the strongest of them to fend off any ambushing monstrosity that would surely spring at them from the back. After hours of brutal cold gnawing at their bones and the occasional distant wolf howl sending shivers of blood lust and rage up the mercenary’s spine they began to feel the gradual warming in the air, the seeping away of the cold that stiffened their muscles and short hard knives of cold pain into their lungs with every breath and soon they stood before the wooden gates of the debauchers’ city itself. Once inside the three travellers looked to each other, silently debating whether to continue on together or part ways….
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