gmimperfecti
Member
On the fringes of civilization, enshrouded by the mists that rolled in from the Great Continental Lake, the small, forgotten town of Shadowfen lay hidden. It was a couple of days' journey west of the bustling trade city of Azuran in Ryke, presenting a stark contrast to its prosperous neighbor. In Shadowfen, the shadows clung a bit tighter, and the nights were filled with the whispers of the unseen. Overlooked by the caravans that plied their trade between Azuran and the outer reaches of the Protectorate, the town harbored secrets as dark as the waters of the nearby lake.
The Ember Hearth Inn stood as a lone beacon of light in this dreary town, a testament to the resilience of those who called Shadowfen home. Its walls, blackened by the soot of countless hearths, had seen better days, yet it remained the heart of the town—a gathering place for the desperate, the curious, and those few adventurers bold or foolhardy enough to probe the mysteries that lay beyond.
Rumors had begun to swirl around Shadowfen, carried by the few travelers who dared venture to this remote corner of Ryke. They spoke of a dungeon, newly unearthed by a tempest that had torn through the land, its entrance revealed as if by some malevolent will. Whispers suggested it was once the sanctum of a sorcerer whose name had been lost to time, a figure of dread and power, whose experiments with the arcane and the dead were said to have twisted the very fabric of reality.
Outside, there was an open hearth, glowing with embers of burnt-out logs. Among those around the open hearth, one man stood out, given his space as the other locals chatted about their day over tankards of ale procured from inside. This man, old and wrapped in a tattered cloak, his face obscured by the flickering shadows caused by the ember's scintillation, was known to the few who dared speak with him as Morran the Cursed. Once a member of a fateful expedition into the sorcerer's sanctum, he had returned alone, his eyes haunted by what he had witnessed. Morran spoke in riddles and warnings, his voice barely a whisper, muttering to himself as he rocked back and forth over his alcohol.
A distressed woman, Mira, paced just within the inn's entrance, her gaze flitting towards the door with every creak and whisper of wind. She was the wife of one of the scouts sent from Azuran, her once vibrant face now etched with worry and sleepless nights. Mira held a crumpled note—the last message received from the scouts. Each person that entered saw her look up, pleading, "Are you a brave soul? Please, please look for the fate of my dear husband and his companions!" She held a locket in one hand, quite a nice looking one—a family heirloom with the insignia of Azuran's merchants, promising a handsome reward for their safe return or at least, news of their fate.
Leaning against the bar, a well-dressed man watched the room with a predator's keen interest. He introduced himself as Varic, a merchant with ties to Azuran's upper echelons—and its shadowy underbelly. Varic spoke of a creature or perhaps an artifact, rumored to be the key to the sorcerer's research, that had caught the attention of Azuran's black market.
Tucked away at a secluded table, a robed figure poured over ancient scrolls and tomes, their surface flickering with faint, eldritch light. This was Eldrin, a scholar of the arcane, whose obsession with the sorcerer's knowledge had led him to Shadowfen. Eldrin believed the dungeon held a library, untouched for centuries, containing the sorcerer's personal grimoires and the secrets to forbidden magic.
Near the inn's indoor fireplace, a hooded figure stood alone, staring into the flames with an intensity that suggested a deeper, unnerving focus. Known only as the Seer, this mysterious individual spoke of visions of a darkness that bled beyond the confines of the dungeon, a force that threatened to engulf Ryke in shadows. He believed the dungeon was not just a crypt for the sorcerer's remains but a seal over a rift that led to realms of unimaginable horror, which explained why he was alone by the indoor fire even on a cold night like this.
The innkeeper, a stout man with a weathered face that bore witness to many a story, shuffled between the patrons, his voice carrying over the murmur of conversations. To newcomers he nods and barks out, "Shadowfen welcomes you. May you find what you seek in its shadows, but beware, for not all that is lost yearns to be found. Listen well to the tales of old Morran but the Seer is a bit...," he said, pausing to refill a traveler's mug. "For in his madness lies wisdom. And If you have a moment, chat with dear Mira," he turned towards the anxious woman, "She needs someone with courage find her husband. No doubt the Azuran Lord Constable would be pleased as well if his scouts came back home."
OOC:
You may request additional information and/or use your abilities, skills, and titles. For example, recognized adventurers could arrive with a quest for one or all of the breadcrumbs, etc.
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