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Throughout the history of humanity's reign upon this continent, Sharn has been the hub of all Civilization in Eberonn.
The City of Towers grows high above the landscape, creating a pillar of civilization. In every civilization, there are the
people that earn their living by being used for their respective skills in adventuring. In this Saga, we find four complete
strangers that will find the strands of their fate woven together.
"Hur'y up, ya big oaf." The metal guardian put his finger to the closest things to lips he had. "Be quiet and don't
attract attention to yourself, Kefrell," the warforged said to the artificer. "This isn't the best part of the city to be
doing that."
"Well why not!" Kefrell said to her guardian. "Ya know the both of us could take on any of these frack'n pansies!
Heck! I cul'da take most of em all on ma lonesome!" "Besides, Urilk, the money from this is gunna be great! I definetly
have some tricks to show off this time!"
As she is saying this, the gnome puts her hand on the glass-looking rod tie'd tightly to her belt. "And I know you
aren't exactly a weakling either, Urlik." "I built you that way."
"That you did Master Kefrell. That you did well." The Warforged seemed to show pride for a second,
something strange tosee coming from a machine.
Meanwhile, unseen eyes track their motions. This fighting duo was actually quite popular in the Tower Foot Colloseum
down in the dark reaches of Sharn. Bards and commoners tell tall tales of their actions during the last war,
even saying that they were heavily responsible for some of the victories that Breland enjoyed. But this time, the owner of
the scrying pool wasn't there to watch the shows for sports.
Today, it was a job interview.
The sorcerer was not exactly happy to be here. Especially in Breland. His entire family had been killed while he
was fighting this country. Breland's advancement into his home nation of Karnath had ravaged the village he calls his home.
His job here was not to serve Breland. It was simply to serve himself. He wanted to learn the skills his ancestor elves had
learned about weaving magical lines to all members of his batallion.
Llanathter was a corporal. He was still loyal to his country, to the point that he was ready to kill anyone or destory
anything to see it restored to what it was. Unfortunately, he was without an army. And without a Paycheck.
"Why the hell am I here. I should be rallying people to my cause by now." Llanathter cowled. "If only the Aerenal elves
weren't on another frackin continent."
Llanathter was looking for the war weavers. And he had heard that some had been at the colloseum. So here he is.
"I figure I might as well get some cash while I'm Here."
To his surprise, He may end up with a job by tonight.
The scrying pool rippled at his image.
"Damn." "Ill have hell to pay if the elders hear that I ended up here for the night." The cleric dressed himself
and kissed the woman, whose name he is completely unaware of. She still smelled of cheap ale and gnome herb. "They simply
do not understand that the soverign host doesn't care THAT much if i have a little fun," he said as he light up a pipe on
the way down the street. "This ring of sustanence is a lifesaver."
When he rolled into the temple around dawn, the elder was not pleased with Woarlin.
"Not surprising," the scraggly human said as he approached the angry priest.
"What surprises me is the fact that you didn't even try to hide it this time." The Dwarf had his arms tightly crossed on his
chest. "This has to be the third time this week." "Hey, look! Im sorry, Alright! I had a bad night, and I just
need some rest!" Woarlin howled. "Besides, It's not likeI have anything to do today."
"You do now..."
The Dwarf grinned.
After some tea, and 2 hours of straight prayer and repentace for his acts, Priest Bronzeknee summoned him to his quarters.
The old dwarf had had enough of his acts, and was going to punish him with an assignment that the temple had been putting off for
quite some time. Nobody was brave or stupid enough to do it. Except maybe Woarlin.
"What! The Tower Foot Colloseum?! That place is full of nothing but criminals and boastful adventerurs." Secretly,
Woarlin just wanted to avoid that place. Before he became a cleric, he was caught stealing someone's money pouch there.
He barely escaped with his life that time.
"We need someone to investigate the goings-on that the Cult of the Dragon Below had been doing. You are, unfortunately,
the best Shadowbane Inquisitor we have for the job. Woarlin sighed and shrugged his shoulders. He realized that he was
the perfect man for the job and Bronzeknee knew it. He finished his prayer, granted himself the spells he needed to fight,
and threw his shawl over his head. Today, he would act like the old Woarlin. The rouge that knew the ins and outs of every part of this
city.
The eyes that saw him leave the temple tracked him from to the Arena. This one would have to be watched closely. He
must be unaware of what he is actually doing.