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The old city of Corvis was unusually quiet. The winter season had come and gone, ushering in the gradual warmth of spring. It would not be long before the merchants, mechanicks, soothsayers, craftsmen, and thieves would return to the City of Ghosts. The city was a valuable hub of trade between the nations of Llael, Rhul, and Ios to the north and Cygnar, Ord, and (to a lesser degree) the Protectorate to the south. Despite the fact that the city was sunk into a vast, marshy bog in the middle of northern Cygnar, Corvis still saw much more merchant traffic than many other cities in the Iron Kingdoms. The traditional design of modern cities had long been abandoned after the original city sank into the marsh under it's own weight and was buried under the reconstruction that followed: a network of canals and raised platforms that stretched over several square miles and boasted a population of thousands.
It was here, in the City of Ghosts, that Vinter Raelthorne the Elder had brought his Skorne army against Cygnaran forces in a vain attempt to reclaim the throne he had lost to his younger brother Leto only a year prior. Hundreds of men and Skorne lost their lives in that swamp, laid low by enemy fire and the wandering beasts that lurk below the surface of the bog. This was not the first battle in Corvis' history, however. Many battles were fought over this crucial waterway in the past, dating all the way back to the time of the Orgoth, and the swamp was teeming with spilled blood. Many of those wars continue to be fought today on the spectral battlefield that stretches for miles around Corvis, earning the city it's nickname with their nightly routines. Most of the haunts are little more than disconcerting reminders of days gone by. Some, however, obtain a new, sinister life after death and stalk the nearby roadways and waterways in search of living prey. Every year, a few people go missing. Every year, a few bodies float down the river and into the city's canals. If they're lucky, the body is found by the city sanitation workers or one of the priests of Morrow. If they're not so lucky, the body is collected by individuals who have a sinister need of such things or others who wish to sell said body to the former.
Our story begins at a tavern called 'Rusty Jack's' in the northern quarter of town, a residential tavern situated away from the hustle and bustle of the Quad near the river. The tavern is generally populated by locals but, on occassion, the tavern's reputation for being 'off the beaten path' leads individuals with a need for secrecy to it. It's these customers that always cause trouble. Sometimes it's a wanted criminal, sometimes it's a Khadoran spy, and sometimes it's just a comman man trying to hide out from 'debt collectors.' It's seldom good, however, and the owner of the bar typically keeps a sharp eye out for potential trouble.
As fitting it's namesake, Rusty Jack's is home to the rusted shell of a warjack's cortex, it's lifeless eyes cracked and worn. The shell is displayed prominently on the northern wall of the establishment, greeting patrons with it's cold, mechanical stare. The story goes that the shell was salvaged by the owner's father in the swamps years ago and was far too pitted and worn by the elements to be useful for resale to anyone. The cortex inside was still largely intact, however, and the owner's father made a hefty sum selling it back to the Cygnaran army. That sale enabled him to fund the tavern's construction and provide a place for the weary workers of Corvis to sit and drink far away from the tangled mess of the downtown hustle. It also provided a place for the Cygnaran soldiers garrisoned here to take a load off and enjoy a quiet night to themselves after a harrowing patrol. One such soldier made himself a regular at the owner's insistance. This soldier was different, however. He was not garrisoned here. In fact, he wasn't even truly a solider anymore but he was still a tough old soul and fairly handy with a forgelock. The owner arranged to keep him around in exchange for his services as a bouncer and enforcer in case more undesireables should find their way into his bar. This man was Claudian Galbraith.
The utter mundanity of the evening was disrupted, however, when a slender form made it's way in through the door. Draped in black and possessed of a chilling, bone-white countenance was none other than a Nyss elf! Immediately behind her was a large Umbrean woman bearing a massive axe that seemed to radiate a faint blue glow from a series of runes adorning the blade. They exchanged glances at each other after looking around the room and finally nodded, almost in unison, as they stepped forward to secure a room for the night. The conversations in the room fell silent as they passed, all eyes focused on the elf with combined terror and awe. The two women adjourned to a small table in the corner and began examining a map, the Nyss putting an end to the staring with a baleful glare at the gawking patrons.
A few minutes later, another group wandered into the tavern led by a Tordoran man of noble heritage and strong build. He had the look of an adventurer to him, or perhaps a mercenary, as did the other two who accompanied him: a slight, freckled girl dressed in similar fashion and a younger man who seemed to light up at the prospect of a good night's rest. The Tordoran saddled up to the bar, smiling at the owner, and slapped down a handful of gold crowns.
"I need 3 rooms for the night, 3 breakfasts for the morning, and 3 mugs of your best ale for right now," the Tordoran said, looking over his shoulder and smiling at his companions. "It takes more than a couple of bog trolls to stop the Jackal's Grin eh?" The Tordoran chuckled and the other two simply nodded, smiling. The owner provided the requested ales and the trio made their way to a table near the bar, laughing and carrying on about a battle they had fought out in the swamps only a few hours past.