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A wide field of shattered weapons, barrow mounds, and mass graves surrounds the city of Absalom, a vast plain known as the Cairnlands.
Rising from the war-torn earth like the grasping arms of the dead are countless siege castles, towers, and fortresses constructed over the millennia by would-be warlords who tried to take the great city and inevitably failed. Like forgot ten monuments to failed conquerors, the siege castles of Absalom beckon the brave, the fearless, and the foolish with the promise of adventure and untold treasures, ever ready to create heroes or to entomb the fallen.
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Yesterday you've all were hanging out in a bar somewhere in Absolom, the center of the world. It was getting late and all the other people present were passed out on the floor..you being dwarfs and made from hardier stock were the only ones left conscious when a red haired dwarf with an eye-patch and a pegleg walked in the bar.
"Howdy laddies, good to see so many fine dwarfs here. I was just tourin' the Cairnlands when I noticed a minor quake split open one of the towers...part of the wall fell right off!. It be open for 'xploring now. I'd go meself..but I got this bum leg He knocks on his wooden leg. "But you fine dwarfs should have no problem getting there and seeing what's inside. Just remember to buy old one-eye a drink when you get back and tell 'em the story of what went on inside. Oh..and with old one-eye..I be meanin' meself laddies.
You all looked at each other and decide to get your stuff together and move out after getting direction from the peglegged dwarf.
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"Hey, old one-eye, nice to meet you. What happened to your eye? My name is Elliot Feardwarf, I'm from the Mindspin Mountains and I'm here to meet some interesting people and I'm looking for a chance to extend my fighter skills in an adventure outside of Absalom!"
Elliot is a young dwarf who just finished his fighter training. He left the Mindspin Mountains to find glory (and collect treasures of course).
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In the back of the tavern, a pale dwarf with stringy hair sits quietly. He would almost escape notice, except for the frequent coughing and sniffling sounds.
Its hard to tell, but you wonder if he might be ill... the other patrons clearly have wondered the same thing, and there's a small no-man's zone around the chair in which he sits, as if no one wants to get too close to find out if he's contagious.
He says very little, seeming to try to avoid getting noticed. He wears a battered breastplate, and a vast array of weaponry spring from various storage places on his person, though one gets a sense its more out of indecisiveness or perhaps compensation, then an actual need for, or desire to use them.
"Name's Sickly." He offers, when introduction are eventually made. "From up near Kravenkus." He suddenly starts coughing. It goes on for a while before getting under control. His breath comes in wheezes as he adds, mumbling, "The coal mines're hard on the lungs."
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One of the dwarves still standing in the bar, though... was not a dwarf. However, despite his tall frame, well over six feet, the human--slender for a dwarf, but stocky for a human--still wore a proud, long beard, carefully groomed and braided to show his clan. His axe proudly worn on his back--no, not an axe, an urgrosh--and the runes along the edge of his breastplate demonstrated that this man was as proud a dwarf as any.
"Split open, you say? Aye, you rarely see quality construction these days, but the passing of time does far less than the passing of neglect. What say you, brethren? Up for a nighttime adventure?"
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A fine dwarven specimen finished a mug of ale. He was perhaps the finest example of a dwarf to ever grace this tavern. His beard was oiled and well-kempt, with elaborate braids and clasps. He stroked its luxurious brown hair as he considered One-eye's tale.
"Clandelve Hammerhand, at your service," he said. It was obvious he did not lack for self confidence. And why should he, when he was such an outstanding dwarf. "An I could do with stretchin' me legs...especially if'n some gold might be involved. If we find anything worth mention, you'll 'ave yerself a finder's fee of the finest dwarven ale this tavern offers, most certain."
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He was old, his beard white as snow but his eyes dark grey like the stormclouds are still alert.
Finishing his tankard, he moves slowly to the one-eyed dwarf.
"Harken to your tale, It be good with ale. I am Kalaron Boulderstep from the Clan Boulderstep, Warpriest of Angradd. Speak now and we as dwarfs will hear out kin."
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The one-eyes man gives you directions on how to get there and tells you to hurry. Others might have seen the results of the quake as well and could be on the way to explore the tower as well.
As you move out of the city you walk through wide field of shattered weapons, barrow mounds, and mass graves surrounds the city of Absalom, a vast plain known as the Cairnlands.
Rising from the war-torn earth like the grasping arms of the dead are countless siege castles, towers, and fortresses constructed over the millennia by would-be warlords who tried to take the great city and inevitably failed. Like forgot ten monuments to failed conquerors, the siege castles of Absalom beckon the brave, the fearless, and the foolish with the promise of adventure and untold treasures, ever ready to create heroes or to entomb the fallen.
From a distance you see;
The ruined siege castle now being called the Fallen Fortress rises out of the churned earth of the Cairnlands. No doors or windows mar the otherwise smooth expanse of the tower’s walls. The tower is quatrefoil in plan; its eastern wing has largely collapsed, exposing the interior floors to the open air. Only the topmost level seems whole, though its eastern portion hangs precariously over the mountain of rubble left by the collapse. At ground level, the rubble frames a gaping hole in the side of the building that provides access to the tower’s darkened interior.
The tower stands 80 feet tall and its exterior walls seem to be amazingly smooth.
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Sickly follows along with the others, mostly quiet, but seemingly happy to be allowed to come along.
His breath seems far more labored then it should as they stop to examine the fortress from a distance.
"Not dwarven." He observes, somewhat unnecessarily, wiping his nose absently on one sleeve.
As they approach, he'll keep an eye out for signs of recent activity in the area, going in or coming out of the tower.
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Inspired by the climbing skills of Elliot, Sickly will clamber up after him, wheezing as he goes, but seeming to know what he's doing regardless of his breathing difficulties.
He stops to take a breather at the top after he does so, slightly winded, then stands guard while Elliot knots and ties a rope for the others, offering his grappling hook if there's nothing solid to tie it too.
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As Sickly studies the surroundings he notices;
-The floor here seems stable (for now..no telling what another earth quake might do)
-There are some footprints in the dust in front of the NW door, just barely visible after a few dwarfs have started to move around in the room
-The SW door seems trapped with something, but Sickly doesn't hear anything on the other side.
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Clandelve could tell this structure was entirely unstable. "Las' thing we want is t' fall through this floor. Obviously not dwarven construction, or it would've endured like the stone itself!" he said. He stepped carefully, testing part of his weight on each board before committing his full weight.
Probably human-made, he thought sourly with a side-long glance at Glorin.
Glad to be able to see in the dark, Clandelve looked for any exits to this landing, or any other signs of trouble.