Player Characters

PC XP Table

PC	XP
Splinters, Dwarf Assassin	66,470
Yar, Ammur Totem Barbarian	59,920
Taendertyg, Nimothan Ranger	59,220
Isileth, Elf Gloom Ranger Scout	49,200
Demiguz, Atlantean Eldritch Knight	41,535
Crinna, Goliath, Shaman	33,830
Gideon, Atlantean Battle Mage	30,175
Raenara, Halfelf Bard	22,275
Sar, Dhari, Slayer	L6
San Kitaran, Atalnatean Battle Wizard	L6
Banner Underwood, Halfling, Druid	5,240
Peren Amakiir, Sersid Elf, Ranger	5,240
Leofric "Snout" Elreditch, Elven Pitfighter	5,240
Alibongus	3,530
Turbol	2,530

"Snout" - Leofric Elred

Leofric is a Sersid Elf... to his eternal dismay and embarrassment. The last of the elves sit in their painfully icy wasteland, droning on about stuff so old and unrealistic that it is no surprise they are the last of a dwindling race. They have no sense of realism left. They have no drive. Their motivations are airy fairy, out of date, passed-on-too-many-times bullshit of the very worst. Leofric has read the texts. He's studied them. He came to different conclusions than the elders. They don't get on. They take Umbridge at this disrespect. He just finds them irritatingly blind.Their ceremonies are tedious. Their devotion to their long-gone past glories is just another obvious error in a long list of tedious long-winded errors made by a race so fucking arrogant the world is clearly sick of them.
At other times Leofric is a light-hearted, jovial young character... but he hides that incredibly well behind a scar-webbed exterior so bitter you can taste it on the air that hangs around him... dead... still and impervious to the elements. Those who lean in to threaten him become aware of it. The air about him is still, silent and menacing. He exudes it. Breathes it in. Kills it. It is both silent and deafeningly resonant. It is white noise infused with layer upon layer of deep subsonic bass that drowns the senses, piques the senses, requires deliberation and... BANG ! He's knocked you fucking unconscious, you daft weak-minded little prick ! Concentrate next time. The pain is coming. Surely...
But hang on a minute. His eyes. They hold a... certain... what is that behind the menace.... An ancient knowledge. A charisma that belays his outer skin. Did he really just... Yes he did, hard in the face, and now he's done it again. Your heads swimming. Your mind reeling. You drunkenly draw your weapon, turning in the wind that wasn't there, soothed by it, invited by... something... oh... and there's the pain. Wow.. that's a lot of...

Banner Underwood

Born and raised in the Ghostwood wilds, Banner of the Underwood clan is wandering following recent completion of his tribal coming of age ceremony where the nature spirits reveal to the initiates their spirit animal guide.  Prior to the initiation, Banner was already considered odd even by the standards of his tribe as, as a child he was touched by the woodland spirits and marked as different from the others - Banner can speak telepathically to any creature within 30 feet of him. He can speak telepathically in this way to one creature at a time.   In the initiation to adulthood, the spirits not only revealed that he has the spirit guide of a bear but also for a short period was transformed into a black bear causing concern to all the elders but the clan shaman, who believes that such a demonstration of the woodland spirits strength is a significant and great omen. The following morning after the ritual the shaman conferred with Banner whilst casting runes giving a reading of great import that Banners destiny is to follow the path of the moon with the guidance of Spirits, serve the Forest Gods were all shall be revealed in time, but the path requires immediate action as imbalance is present to the natural order and Banner is a key instrument in levelling the scales.

Gideon Galant Atlantean Wizard

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Gideon was born and raised in the city of Katagia to Lord Octavius and Lady Miriam Galant, and grew up in opulent comfort alongside his older brother Thaddeus.

Gideon's future was expected to revolve around taking control of some of his father's many businesses and marrying well into a pure Atlantean family, but this was turned on its head when he displayed prodigal aptitude for the arcane and sciences as a young boy, and so began his tutoring in the war magic tradition dating back to the days of the Atlantean empire.

Gideon soaked up knowledge like a sponge and his power and control grew exponentially, impressing his teachers and drawing ire from members of his noble family, who considered him to be subverting his duty to his bloodline. His parents demanded that Gideon still attend court, and the young Atlantean played his part, learning the machinations of deception and manipulation that typify these interactions, and he took personal satisfaction in turning the most obnoxious individuals against each other. Still, learning was his one true passion, and he devoted every waking minute to amassing knowledge on every subject that took his interest.

Gideon's rapid ascension through the scholarly ranks, however, was dramatically cut short after an perilous encounter involving a fellow student and a cabal of unidentified mages, which left him clinging to his life by a thread. The ensuing investigation absolved him of guilt, but his standing within the magical and noble communities was subject to harsh questioning. 

Gideon near enough resigned himself to a miserable life managing his father's portfolio and entering into an arranged marriage, before a communication from Hyar Thomel reached his ears. The Sage of Atlantis summoned Gideon to his tower, telling him that the young man's thirst for knowledge had impressed him, offering Gideon a chance to explore ancient sites at his behest, gathering lost Atlantean knowledge and artifacts from a time when their culture was at its zenith.

Gideon grabbed the opportunity with both hands, as the Sage is highly respected in most Katagian circles and he knew that his father would have to give his blessing and accept the ensuing political connections, or risk a catastrophic loss of reputation.

Gideon has taken great joy in his assignment, right up until the point where he investigated an potential alchemist's tomb in Three Towers and was set upon by a number of pirates and sahuagin....

Family / Relationships

Father - Octavius Galant - patriarch of Galant family, important Atlantean noble with controlling interests in a number of businesses, wants to advance himself politically, Tywin Lannister esque figure, generally pretty abrasive towards Gideon as he sees magic users as either tools of war or fanciful dreamers, however he is glad of Gideon's apprenticeship with Hyar Thomel and the benefits that has provided, and so is supportive of his travels to distant lands on that basis

Mother - Miriam Galant - Gideon remembers her as very loving when he was a child, but gradually grew colder to him as he grew up, loves the opulence of Katagian court and hoped her sons would both marry well and enjoy living extravagantly as she does, neither of them have, so she treats them both with aloof disapproval, her marriage with Octavius was politically motivated

Older brother - Thaddeus, trained as an elite fighter and is currently an Imperial Guard, has yet to marry due to his station, which privately infuriates both his parents, Gideon has a good relationship with his brother, and he is the only one he misses the company of, Gideon is jealous of Thad's martial prowess but would never admit to it

Hyar Thomel - Gideon is eternally grateful to the wisened sage for his patronage, although he is often exasperated by his mentor's meandering train of thought, Hyar communicates assignments and places of interest to Gideon via a sending spell / diplomats pouch (happy to discuss Matt!), Gideon is also intrigued by the sage's extended lifespan, coveting this for himself

Andromeda Valar - Gideon's fellow student in the arcane and previous peer, her family is more lower born than Gideon's, and therefore his friendship with her was tested by their differing class situations
They had been friends since becoming students together, which eventually evolved into a romance, kept secret as they were both arranged to marry different people at a later stage
They both become frustrated with Katagian society and resolve to elope together to explore the continent, but on the eve of their travels, Gideon visits her unannounced to see her in conversation with a number of Black Circle operatives, who along with Andromeda attack him when he questions as to why they are there
Gideon is swiftly incapacitated and the mages order Andromeda to deal the finishing blow, which is only interrupted by the arrival of Katagian guards and allied mages. Andromeda and the cabal flee Katagia and have yet to be found.
Gideon doesn't know whether Andromeda has turned on him voluntarily or whether she was coerced by magic or otherwise

      Crinna Frostheart Majjistral 

The Majjistral clan dwells high on Thubotan, Thule's mightiest mountain, and legend has it the birthplace of Tarhun.  Far from civilization, they know little of the wider world.  Majjistral is a small clan, known to few for the Shrine to Tarhun.  Pilgrims usually visit during the long day for the festival of Tarhun.  When they do come, visitors are welcomed and pressed for tales of the world beyond the mountain.  Crinna is the clan Shaman's initiate.  In clan lore, there may be only one shaman and one initiate at any time.  The relentless growth of the Serex Glacier troubles the clan. Every winter, more high pastures frozen in its ice.  And with it comes dreaded white apes.  They attack when the weather is worst.  The shaman believed they could control the weather.  The hateful monsters are terrible to behold.  Long, rank white hair covers the thick-bodied creatures.  

Deep in the long night, just after the festival of Nergal, the stranger came.  A blue-skinned goliath from far Nimoth came on pilgrimage to the Shrine.  The clan welcomed the stranger with a feast, and the stranger charmed them with tales of high adventure across the lands of Thule.  Raucous feasting went on into the night, the clan's young braves trying and failing to best the stranger in wrestling and drinking bouts.  Morning brought tragedy far worse than Crinna's hangover.  Crinna arrived late to his duties to find the shaman murdered, the Shrine defiled with vile curses of Set, and the holy scriptures missing along with the blue-skinned Nimothan.   The clan wanted Crinna to stay and become their new shaman.  But Crinna could not, he had spent enough time as an initiate, and without the scriptures to guide him, he would never be able to gain the knowledge.  Sad, but resolute Crinna left his mountain home in pursuit of the blue-skinned goliath.

For the last two months, Crinna has been pursuing the blue-skinned defiler.  In the stinking slave markets of Marg, told of a Nimothan trading post in Three Towers where he might pick up the trail.  

Splinters 

Appearance: Stocky, dwarf. Bald tattooed head. Tattoos over body (including a tally of kills). Beard is dyed blood red. Habitually wears dark leather armour and a dark hood (not black but dark blues, greys, greens and browns. Carries a small but powerful crossbow a hand axes, short sword, throwing knives and a couple of daggers strapped to his chest. 

Splinters will happily bump off or torture any man, woman or child but is not so happy about killing animals. He's quite a jolly sort, all things considered, but has a large nasty streak. Murder makes him hungry. Used to be a freelance enforcer for various Quodethi crime groups and has fallen foul of some of them. Splinters has also worked for Quodethi government and their interests in other places (he has a price on his head in Lomar). Splinters has extensive underworld and some government contacts, although not necessarily on the best of terms with them. No family. Few friends

Yar, the Hunter

Isileth & Teandertyg

First Meeting

by Judith

As Taendertyg wearily forced his way through yet another drift of the frozen ice shards, he reflected that, when all was said and done, he had had better plans. The need to leave the Thousand Teeth had been pressing, and a well-supplied trek through the mountain gap between the Mes-Qa Glacier and Kang towards the Kalayan Sea had, at the time, seemed an excellent way of getting out of an increasingly awkward situation. While buying supplies back in Jomur, he had been warned of the dangers of getting too close to the Bilfummun volcano so planned his route to skirt the edge of Kang.

He had thought that the horror stories surrounding Kang, the Pale Death, had been an example of the kind of weakling hyperbole the Nimothans had come to expect of Kalayans.  Too late he had discovered that Kang was all the stories had warned and far, far more.

His supplies had run out the previous day, and only the distant glimmer of the Kalayan Sea had promised any salvation from the gnawing hunger and penetrating cold.  The relentless chill had that morning started to mute his earlier stomach-numbing cramps of hunger, and the white of the ice was already blurring with the white of the sky: on some increasingly remote level Taendertyg knew he was in serious trouble.

Stumbling across the misty twilight tundra the smell of food was the first thing to register to his compromised awareness, an echo of long dead human ancestors for whom scent was far more important sense than sight.

Careful and increasingly desperate searching soon led him to a neatly concealed camp site and a small pot simmering on a banked flame.  Hunger over-rode caution as he scooped up thin stew in a wooden bowl and greedily drank the warm liquid.

Moments later, he heard a voice from the icy mists: “I did not hear you ask.”  The female voice was oddly accented, alien, but confused rather than accusatory.  “One can clearly see you had need of the food, but still you did not think to ask…”

Taendertyg overbalanced backwards, scrabbling for Freyja, his crossbow, with cold-numbed hands as a slender pale figure emerged from the mist.  Its pale hair and corpse-white skin brought to mind the stories of ghosts haunting the glacier and as he hurriedly loaded the crossbow he found himself mumbling a half-forgotten prayer for Asura’s protection against the undead.

The figure stopped, her head canted slightly to one side, icy blue eyes glinting with amusement. “I am a living being as are you.  Were I dead, it is unlikely I would need to prepare food.”

“Who… 

“I am a hunter from Sersidyen.  An elf,” she clarified after Taendertyg’s initial blank frown.  “And you are a human, I think, but… you do not look like one of the Dhari, and an Atlantean would likely have shown better manners.  Where are you from?”

“Lots of places; Nimoth originally.”  Balancing any potential threat from the elf against the chance to continue eating the stew, hunger won out and he picked up the bowl, returning his attention to the pot.  After the first few, wonderful mouthfuls, he glanced up to see the elf watching him with unconcealed but wary curiosity as he quickly finished the bowl.  “You’re not eating?” he asked around a mouthful of some unknown root vegetable.

She studied him for a moment as if considering her response, then crouched down, wordlessly pulled a strip of dried meat from a pouch on her belt and started thoughtfully nibbling it, still watching Taendertyg with an unblinking gaze.  The uncomfortable silence lasted until Taendertyg finished the last of the stew.

“Where are you going?” she asked as he put down the now empty bowl.

“Droum, maybe, or Rime… then to Quodeth.”

She nodded.  “I have read that Quodeth is a great city, perhaps the largest city since the time when the oceans drank Atlantis.  I have never been there but I think perhaps I have seen it in a dream.  I shall accompany you there as it seems you know the route.”

“Up to you, girl, but mind you know you’ll be watching your own back and paying your own way.  I’m no caravan master.  What do I call you?”

“I am Isileth.”

“Taendertyg.”

The Drunken Vulture

by Jack

Travel had slowed since the Beast-Men encounter. Isileth observed that this was almost entirely due to her Nimothan companion, who had grown inexorably more cautious, deliberate and alert since. His efforts were not in vain though: he appeared to have found something in the cold, hard earth.

“Beast-Men passed through here,” he muttered, brushing his hand along a faint, oversized print, otherwise masked in the undergrowth.

Isileth had always been under the impression that humans, as a race, were short-lived and short-sighted, but Taendertyg was an exception. Of course, he wasn’t blessed with eyes that could see in the dark, unlike the elves, but his ability to find indicators and sources of life in the wild surpassed even her own. Now, however, emotion seemed to cloud his judgment.

“It seems they were the same herd we fought earlier,” she asserted. It was a statement of fact, but it seemed to penetrate the Nimothan’s, until-now sullen features. A half-smile cracked across his face.

“Perhaps.”

Within a few hours, darkness inevitably crept over the Lands of the Long Shadow. Isileth busied herself, gathering what little fruits the tundra had to offer. As she foraged, her night eyes caught sight of another creature watching her. Without any sudden movements, she shifted her lithe form to get a better view. A solitary caribou stared back, unperturbed by the elf’s presence, despite her close proximity. The deer was young, only a season or two old, yet would still make a good meal; but something about its nature, its sheer audacity, made Isileth stay her hand. She regarded the animal, and it returned the favour, before both returned to their activities.

When she returned to camp, lit by a miniscule fire half-buried in the earth, Taendertyg jumped with a start, flashing his loaded crossbow in her direction as if his life depended on it. In a moment, recognition changed to irritation, and the Nimothan lowered his weapon.

“Isi! Must you sneak up on me like that?” the combination of darkness and being light of step was both a blessing and a curse for the elf, it seemed.

Normally, Isileth would hasten to correct this unwanted nickname, but now was not the time. In one flowing movement, Isileth sat herself by the fire… and hesitated. The elf had a propensity to say exactly what she thought, but Taendertyg appeared to be in a particularly frosty mood, which was not helped by the cold.

“Taendertyg… you have not been yourself since we fought the Beast-Men. Something…”

“And you would know?” was the brusque reply. This caught her off-guard, so she decided to change tack.

“You saved my life, when you could have easily left me to my fate.”

“You’re welcome,”

“I saw your anger. I felt your rage. It has not left you since,”

The visible tensing of the Nimothan’s muscles subsided at that. He let out a long sigh, his white breath wafting into the cold night air.

“Why did you spare me, Taendertyg? Why did you stay?”

Another moment passed, as the human tugged at his scraggly blonde beard, searching for the words as if fighting his jaw, willing it to open.

“I have seen what becomes of those left to those savages,” he stared into the middle-distance, the reflection of the fire dancing in his eyes. His furrowed brow relaxed. “Not even you deserve that, Isi!” he let out a small chuckle.

“Isileth,”

“Whatever you say,” this was the standard retort. “You can call me Tyg,” that was not.

At dawn, Isileth ended her meditation. She had gifts that few of her own people could wield, gifts that many sought and yearned for, and which made her departure a greater loss to the Sersid elves. But one such gift may now be of some comfort to the reticent Nimothan.

“Taendertyg?”

“Tyg,” he huffed, cagily, whilst furiously cleaning his crossbow.

“If you have a moment, shall I Dream for you?”

The man looked suspiciously at her, but curiosity seemed to win the day, as he soon joined her cross-legged on the floor. An awkward social mimicry followed, as Tyg copied Isileth’s movements: first assuming a kind of lotus position, then deliberately and ritualistically waving her hands over his eyes, as if to close them, before ice blue eyes locked with his. The Nimothan patently found this unsettling, shifting his position uncomfortably, but that did not matter. The elf’s gift was that of gazing, glimpsing, into a world as-yet untraversed by the beheld: whispers, shadows, echoes of what has not yet been – a Dream. Through the Nimothan’s eyes, a figure loomed large, charging towards a smaller one: an elf with a dark hood and sallow skin, holding a wooden bow aloft but with no arrow notched. This was a premonition of sorts, which gave Isileth, and the few other Sersid elves born with such gifts, the name ‘Dream Walker’.

“Thank you. It is done,” uttered the elf. The man did not know what to do with himself; a stupid grin disagreed with his eyebrows, which seemed to have not settled on an expression themselves.

By dawn, Droum, the City of Tusks, was within site. Taendertyg relayed the plan, forgetting that elven memories are much sharper than that of their human cousins. He had heard that many merchants and fishermen moor within the Bay of Mutrah, some of which may be willing to take them across the Kalayan Sea. Apparently, some also wile away their time at The Drunken Vulture. Neither had frequented this establishment before, but judging by its name, Isileth could see why it would appeal to the Nimothan’s rather strange sense of humour.

Passing through eerily silent, dead and abandoned orchards and farmland, punctuated only by the whistle of a cold breeze, the pair cautiously made their way within the city walls. It appeared to Isileth that Droum perhaps was a shell of its former self. Many grand blue limestone buildings were entirely beyond the demands of the relatively small population, and as a result many were falling into ruin. The same could not be said of The Drunken Vulture, unfortunately.

This ramshackle building seemed to be teeming with folk, though many had ill-favoured looks. Isileth caught the occasional stare, the default reaction of most people she had encountered since leaving Sersidyen, but this was eventually picked up on by Tyg, who forcibly raised her hood as they entered.

The dimly lit space created large, ghastly shadows, as people went about their business inside the tavern. Taendertyg half frogmarched Isileth to a squat, round table before heading to the bar. This gave her ample time to eavesdrop on the locals. Most were making inane chatter about Kang the Pale’s inevitable movement south, though one spoke of something much more immediate: a vast necropolis under the city, filled with undead. Fortunately, this individual slurred their words, which alleviated Isileth’s fears before they had a chance to manifest. She heard no talk of boats heading south.

A few hours, and drinks, later, Taendertyg had appeared to have made some progress. The barman had spoken of a couple of regulars who trade with the merchant vessels from time to time, and they were not far from here.

Unsurprisingly, Tyg was still dubious about this lead. Immediately, Isileth reflected that she had never met a more wary person, yet his usual disenchanted demeanour revealed that this was not without justification. At this moment, however, the alcohol had helped to mask this.

“You stay here, I will look into this,”

“I do not think that’s a good idea, Taendertyg.”

“You’re safe here. You attract too much attention out there,” he staggered towards the door.

For once, Isileth felt affronted. Not only could she hold her own in a fight, but she was much more competent at being unseen and unheard than the clumsy Nimothan, especially now in his drunken stupor. But given that her rather tenuous link with this man was the only one she had here, Isileth resigned herself to her seat.

Within a few minutes, the barman made his way over and sat with the elf. He was wearing a rather tawdry outfit, with occasional beads of sweat drooping from his long, unkempt hair onto his pasty complexion. He gave what appeared to be an attempt at a disarming grin.

“So, new to Droum, huh?” he uttered in a husky tone.

“Well yes, I doubt you have seen many of my kind here before,” she replied innocently.

“I most certainly ‘aven’t,” he slowly looked her up and down, a toothy grin forming. “I’m Aarman,”

“Isileth,”

“A beautiful name,” he cooed. “Tell me Isileth, ‘ow long ‘as the Nimothan ‘ad you for?”

This was a strange phrasing, but Isileth assumed that this man was lacking sufficient intelligence. “We met on the road only a few days ago,”

The man considered this for a moment. “I see,” he leered. “Well, my elven friend, if you’re looking to stay ‘ere awhile, I can offer you a warm bed for the night. I could even offer you some coin,”

What a generous offer! Isileth had never known wealth, but knew it would help her and Tyg get passage across the Kalayan Sea… and resting under the stars paled in comparison to a warm bed and shelter.

“That would be most kind, Aarman. Though I do not know how long we will be staying,”

“Oh it won’t take long,” Aarman winked. “Unless you want it to,”

At this point Isileth was a little confused. She had no intention of going to bed yet.

“I am not tired yet… but I would be most grateful if you are offering to prepare a bed for later?”

The man’s expression darkened briefly, before flickering back.

“O’ course. ‘ow ‘bout a drink then?”

This man seemed awfully persistent, and the longer he was in Isileth’s company, the more uneasy she felt around him. She wordlessly nodded, waiting for her moment. As Aarman disappeared behind the bar, Isileth picked up her things and headed straight out of the tavern, looking for Tyg.

It didn’t take long before she could hear the scuffle. Down a side street, a man with a large axe lay motionless, a crossbow bolt protruding from his skull. Taendertyg had passed this way, and something had gone wrong. Drawing her longbow and notching an arrow, Isileth crept on towards the sounds.

Rounding the corner, she quickly took in the scene. Taendertyg was locked in a deadly brawl with another figure, his mace-axe being the only defence against the assailant’s blade. Tyg’s crossbow, which he named “Freja”, lay discarded on the floor, just out of reach. A third man was struggling to remove another bolt that had pinned him against a nearby crate. Perhaps it was out of haste, or some lingering hurt from Tyg’s earlier comments, but Isileth didn’t hesitate. With a quick draw and release, the scuffle ceased, as the assailant’s head lolled to one side, an arrow imbedded just above the ear. Tyg looked up in surprise.

“Isileth?”

A cry went up, as the third man freed himself from the bolt, and charged at the elf with mace raised high. Isileth had no arrow drawn, and no time to retrieve another. She braced for impact… and continued to do so. With an unassuming whistle and thud, the man’s charge turned to a stumble, collapsing in a heap. Isileth looked up from the prone form to see Taendertyg pointing a crossbow, this one much smaller than Freja.

“Can I assume this means you have not found a ship?” she plainly asked, after a moment.

“Not a ship… but I did find this,” he indicated the hand crossbow. “So, not a total loss.”

Isileth cast her eye over the new corpses in the street, the slurred words about undead coming to mind.

“Perhaps we should remove these before they ‘attract too much attention’?” her usual composed speech had a hint of bitterness that took her quite by surprise. Taendertyg seemed not to notice.

“No, leave them for the attention of carrion birds,” he quipped, scooping up Freja.

“Or perhaps the undead,” Isileth nodded.

Taendertyg stopped, concern etched onto his face. Drawing himself straight, he placed an arm across his chest and closed his eyes, taking a sustained, deep breath. It struck Isileth that perhaps this strange behaviour was how she appeared upon performing a foretelling. Taendertyg’s eyes flashed open once more.

“We need to leave. Now.”

Life in the Thousand Teeth
by Jack

Life in the Thousand Teeth was unforgiving for Taendertyg and his sister Korin. Raiding Beastmen slaughtered their parents when they were young, forcing the pair to strike out on their own.
They were taken under the wing of Rignar, head of The Mes-Qa Company, a group of mercenaries. Under Rignar’s tutelage, the young Taendertyg constructed a lethal crossbow, which he named “Freja”, and he and Korin were soon brought into the fold.
Years later, Tyg and Korin were well-established in the Company, and Tyg made a lot of extra gold as a freelance bounty hunter. Eventually, the Company found out, and Rignar demanded the Company get its share of the gold. This would not do, and Tyg lashed out, in the ensuing scuffle accidentally killing Rignar, and forcing Tyg to flee, leaving his sister behind.
Tyg profited greatly for a while, until one contract went wrong. It was a simple burglary job, to take a polished opal stone from a wealthy Reaver camp. Upon returning with the item, Tyg found his patron slain. The camp was a close ally of the Reaver King, and this was considered treason. The patron had been murdered under orders of The Hall of the Ice-Drake, who had recently taken on the services of a mercenary group. It was The Mes-Qa Company, under their new leader – his sister Korin, and she wanted blood.
With slim pickings in the Teeth, Tyg decided to head South, overhearing talk of wealth and prosperity in Quodeth. One fateful day, he came across a lone Elf, barely an adult by Elven standards. He was guarded at first, but an encounter with a herd of Beastmen awoke the old, long forgotten trauma: the fate that befell his parents all those years ago; and saved the Elf.
Her name was Isileth, a wanderer like himself. He couldn’t explain why, but Tyg seemed drawn to her. Perhaps she reminded him of his sister from years past; perhaps it was the mystique – he’d never met an Elf before, someone so delicate to look at, yet with so much ferocity when cornered; or maybe it was the fact that Ishtar seemed to be with him when they were together – fortune seemed to favour this unlikely pairing.
As the pair made their passage South, they uncovered more about Quodeth – a city of almost infinite names. Apparently it was rich, prosperous… and had more than enough shady, clandestine organisations for a bounty hunter to never be short of work. With their own resource dry, and wanting to seek a better existence for the fair Isi, Tyg decided they should head there at once, and seek out a new patron…