Jonnytheshirt
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Last On: 02/03/10
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Ireland
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Good evening, and welcome. I am Choralis, bard, wanderer, and teller of tales. I see that there are many of you here tonight; perhaps the storm outside has something to do with that. In any case, pull up a chair, order another ale, and listen to a tale of adventure, a tale I will spin of glory and courage, honor and deceit. Listen to the tale of the Drums of War.
Our story begins in a time not long past, a time many of you here tonight may well remember. It is a chaotic time in the Western Heartlands of Faerûn. Following the roughest winter in recent memory, spring has brought with it a flood of bandit activity as aggressive bands of armed humanoids have come down out of the now-clear mountain passes to despoil the trade routes connecting the city-states of the region.
With powerful nations like Cormyr distracted by their own problems, and unable to spare resources to deal with these attacks, the leaders of several of the more prominent city-states have banded together to deal with the threat. Lord Dhelt, the High Rider of Elturel, contributed a full company of his elite Hellriders to the cause, joining with similar forces from Irieabor and Scornubel.
Unfortunately, the troubles plaguing this region are not limited to the eastern marches. Just in the last month two major trade caravans from Baldur's Gate have vanished along the Coast Road. The area here, known to historians and bards as the Fields of the Dead after battles generations past, is only sparsely populated, with a few scattered villages that owe fealty to no great lord. The village nearest the trade routes, the small community of Dunderion, sent a messenger to Elturel reporting evil humanoids stirring in the adjacent Troll Claws, a knot of craggy hills and steep mountains rising above the plains like a blemish. Although Dunderion is just outside of Elturel's sphere of control, and his forces were already depleted by the company sent east, the goodly Lord Dhelt sent a full squad of his riders to investigate this new danger. For if the humanoid bands of the western mountains were venturing into the lowlands again, the entire region and the trade that fueled its prosperity might be in danger.
That was about a tenday ago. No word has returned from the west road since, and attempts to magically scry the location of Dhelt's men have failed. Knowing that he could ill afford another, larger expedition, the High Rider decided to appeal to that other plentiful resource common in the West; adventurers. His advisors told him that a small band of elite adventurers, whose deeds in the northern lands have been sung by the bards, has recently arrived in the city. Messengers were immediately sent to prevail upon these hardy souls to attend upon the High Rider in his citadel overlooking the River Chionthar, to listen to his plea for aid.
Difficult times are upon the West, but such times have a way of pushing forward those whose deeds live on in memory long after such times are past.
And so it is here, good friends, that our story begins, on a cold spring day in Elturel. Where it may end, well, that will come out in our telling...
The following is a shorter introduction, the actual text that I used for my game description on Neverwinter Connections:
The Western Heartlands of the Forgotten Realms face a time of tumult. With the coming of spring, brigands and humanoid raiders have erupted from the forests and mountains of the West to descend upon the trade roads, disrupting the commerce that is the lifesblood of the numerous city-states of this region.
One such place is the prosperous city of Elturel, perched upon a bluff overlooking the River Chionthar. Its ruler, the just paladin Lord Dhelt of Helm, is finding it difficult to both deal with these depredations and keep his citizens safe at the same time. Just recently he has sent a significant force of his Hellriders to join with the armies mustered by his peers in other cities to deal with a huge bandit incursion to the east. But now new attacks have just been reported along the roads to the west, in the shadows of the gnarled mountains known as the Troll Claws.
Fortunately Faerun is rich in another resource: adventurers. A party of veterans has recently come down from the North, accompanied by tales of great deeds and brave service in the aid of the dwarves of Torgan's Delve. But can even such heroes aid the embattled cities of the west, when the entire region echoes with the sounds of the Drums of War?
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