Chapter 1: Missing Persons

You know what its like losing someone, missing someone. Its like that for the survivors of the mourning but in reverse. They are the lost ones, the people missing from the destruction of Cyre.

The Three of you sit around a table in some shanty in new Cyre. You are all looking incredulously at the OrkMan, the grey blood, the Half Ork, A House Tharashk man. The Half Ork sits up tall and the makeshift chair under him creaks alarmingly.

"Fargrim, Clash, and Hamrick I presume? Pleased to meet all your acquaintances" the half ork begins formally with a slight lisp due to his fangs. I have a message from you, from an Old Friend of yours Doria...

Doria, there is name that you hadn't heard for 4 years now. You thought she had died in the Mourning...

The Half Ork Pulls out a red and blotchy stone cut in a curious way. As soon as it is in the sunlight, you see Doria looking at you as a projection. Doria, a half ork scout of some renown and more than a little infamy served with your unit during the war.


" You guys always said when you can't walk, you crawl. When you can't do that, you find someone to carry you. I need someone to carry me guys, I'm in deep. I know its a longshot, but if anyone can find you guys, its my friend hastur here. I'm in need guys, If you come to Blackroot Village in the Shadow Marches I can explain more. Please hurry"

The Image fades away, only to attempt to restart before the Half Ork , Hastur apparently, puts it down on the table, where it dims. Looking at the three of you in all the speldor that the New Cyre Refuge Camp has to offer, he waits for your questions.  

(this prequel type scene can last for as long or as little as you want, but the next scene is arriving at Blackroot, so prepare as you want. )

Has it been four years already?  Clash muses to himself, lost in thought as memories of Doria, and Cyre, rise to fore of his consciousness.

Even as the memories of her voice and face rise to the fore, Clash is thinking about the logistics of the task at hand.  Of course, he's already decided to go the aid of Doria, another Cyrian expatriate and comrade-in-arms.

"Hastur, do you have a map to this Blackroot village?  Will you accompany us there?"  Clash questions the half-orc.

"Wait a minute."

Hamrick the Halfling bangs his fist on the table. "I'd like to know how you got this, and when. Doria gave you this? How? Do you know her, or are you some piece of dirt trying to make a cheap coin out of the situation?"

The Halfling let's himself sink against the back of his chair. "I can't wait to hear the list of your credentials..."

Heh, leave to Hamrick to get to the heart of it quickly, Clash thinks to himself, Doria did name him in the stone message, but how do we know this is really that Hastur?

The Halfork Guffaws a bit, looking around at your situation before tugging open his short with a manly action and discretely showing you an area of his hairy neck that was hidden before by his high collar jacket

A dragonmark

Everyone knows that Dragonmarks are impossible to forge. The Names Hastur, and do you really think with a birthmark like that I'd have to con homeless Cyrian's to make ends meet?

Reflipping his collar, Hastur, continues As for how I meet Doria, It was in the shadow marches, Me and Her had a ... how do you say ... liason a few years back and we've remained friends afterward. I would like to help more but the house, has Forbid it The last part makes his teeth grate.

As for a map, I can take you there myself unless you don't want me to. It will take about two weeks, but I have some Lightning Rail tickets to get us across most of breland without too much of a problem. That said once I get you there, my hands are tied  

The Half Ork looks Irate, whether at his house, the situation, or your questions you dont know.

"No, it would be best that you take us to the Shadow Marches yourself," Clash says to Hastur.

A moment later and in a hollow tone Clash says quietly, "you wouldn't want to live with any regrets."

Fargrim nods slowly, staring into the bottom of an empty tankard.

Aye - wouldn't want ye languishin' here not knowin' if we even made it te the other end o' the line, lad.

Somewhat satisfied -for now- by the sight of the half-orc's dragonmark, Hamrick seems to relax a bit. "Besides", the halfling asks with the most ironic tone of voice he can come up with. "what with your liaison with Doria and all... you must be a real beauty..."

"On the inside, of course."

The halfling's face lightens up with a broad smile. This is starting well. Very well. Maybe there'll even be some money they can actually keep to pay some debts at the end of this job.

"We wouldn't want to miss your oh-so-charming company."

The Halfork smiles, seemingly genuinely relieved.

Our Train leaves tomarrow, bringing us as far as Droam, the monster nation. I will be your guide there and bring you to the Shadow Marches, From there it will be easy to get to Blackroot Village.

The Half Ork then stands and walks to the bar, quickly coming back with a round for everyone. I have no other plans, so I will probably stick arround here until tomarrow. Do you three have everything you need, I may be able to help with supplies if you let me know what you need...

Clash raises his mug, nods his head at Hastur, and then takes a drink.

As he sets the mug down on the worn and scratched table he says, "it will take me just a few minutes to pack and I'll be ready to move out."

Hamrick points to the backpack at his feet. "I got everything I need right here."

Aye, as they say - once ye been in Cyre, ye learn te travel light!

"... and eat whatever you can scrap off the ground." Hamrick remembers the jokes they used to share during the war. "Indeed."

The Halfling sighs noisily. "I wonder how much she's changed."

"Doria, I mean."

Well if everyone is good to go, what do you guys do for fun around here...

The Half Ork will continue to buy rounds as long as someone is willing to drink withhim...

Lost in thought and responding to Hamrick's query, Clash muses out loud, "maybe she's found some happiness with her family in Blackroot village and so hasn't changed too much."

Looking up at Hastur Clash says in a more conversational tone, "fun?  Fun is a luxury of the blissful."