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When mysterious fires begin to burn atop the towers of a nearby citadel long ago abandoned by an order of Hellknights, a group of local heroes heads out to investigate. What they discover within the ruined castle and in the dungeons below its foundation will not only reveal an unexpected invasion and a long-forgotten magical wonder, but will propel the heroes forward into a continent-spanning conflict against cultists, slavers, and a fiery draconic devastation that could unleash an Age of Ashes upon the world!
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The day is coming. Tomorrow is the Call for Heroes, Breechill’s monthly tradition where wannabe adventurers show up to answer the calls for help from the locals. Some months it is getting a cat out of a tree, but others lead to more interesting adventures.
Tradition has it that the “heroes” gather at the Wizard’s Grace in the morning prior to the Call. Some go to see the competition, some to fortify their resolve. Lobbying the locals for jobs is always a popular pastime as well... and some come for all of the above!
Gideon finishes washing his face with the remnants of a lavender bar of soap as he gives his face a final splash.
I wonder if they have anything nearly as nice here he thinks to himself having arrived late enough last night to have missed any open markets. I remember that time I was stuck in that village in Ustalav with the vampire problem and everything was infused with garlic... it took me months to overcome that.
Arriving at the Wizard's Grace with his jaunty hat, book and quill Gideon finds a good perch and takes some notes as he thinks to himself... I'd better at least have some ideas before I approach the local goblins, otherwise I'm stuck with what they've got and it's probably another tale about how their local leader's lineage makes them the personally responsible from saving Golarion from Tar-Baphon. Maybe here I'll get some inspiration regarding local heroes and customs, and if the job looks easy enough I may sneak my way into a job and earn a few coin before visiting the local tribe.
Gideon looks around mildly surprised to see as many dwarves as he does.
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In the dark caverns where light is scarce, the dwarf covered in dirt and soot looks over his belongings one more time. "Trusty shovel.. Extra pockets.. Medicine.. Club.. All looks'in order." His dirty hand runs through his beard as his eyes flick back and forth. Satisfied, Ingraham loads up his belongings into his pack, and hooks on the spade. He meets with the rest of his small clan to say goodbye one more time. "Alright, lads 'n ladies. Time I go make me pearl and gold! I'll be back when I made me fortune." With one final parting wave, he climbs the treacherous rocks and paths to the surface world...
... Long does the Dwarf travel, when he finally surfaces on the mountain base. The light of the sun shining in his eyes. It is almost blinding to a dwarf who seldom sees it. "Mmmmm... Mayhaps I have taken a wrong turn. Still, close enough." He scans the country side, until he sees smoke. "Ah, must be there then." He hikes down the slopes and through the forest until he finds a trail that leads him straight to Breachill.
When the dirty Ingraham finally arrives, he sees that many are already in the village and looking to earn coin. I weren't expecting this much lively folk. How can I make me fortune if there be so much competition? He ponders, scratching his head. All around he sees plenty of other Dwarves from across the mountain and over the hills. "There be plenty of highland kin.. Wonder if there be any.."
Grrrrooooooaaaaaan.
The dwarf's stomach growls and groans for a meal. "Ah, well.. Proper order of business. Food then profit." He heads into the fray and looks for somewhere to get a bite of meat. Feeling out of his environment, he moves slowly through the crowd.
Davian's room he rents is little bigger than a closet, but that is all he has ever been able to afford, so he isn't going to complain.
What would it help anyways? Regardless today is a good day.
He splashes gray water across his face washing yesterday's grime and sweat away. He recently just turned 17 and today the Heroes were coming to town. That always seemed to up his sales for the month. His rent and survival depended on it. Seeing as he was always a couple of months behind, he was always riding the edge of missing payment and ending back on the streets. He tosses his best shirt on, or at least the one with fewer holes in it over his badly scarred body. Well from the distance his arms, chest and back looked scarred. But up close they were actually large runes etched into his skin. At night he traced them with his fingers, wondering why he had them and nobody else in town. He wondered what they meant and who put them there.
But this morning that was the furthest thing from his mind as he grabbed his backpack, tools and his dagger, heading out into town to await the adventurers. Finding a small bit or shaded real estate he sets up a couple of makeshift boards as he dumps his pack of carved baubles out onto the board. With his dagger he begins carving into the wood chunks from a nearby tree. He carves small animal prints and even one of the runes from his body. The most prominent one. His favorite. The one that he leaves his mark of all over town. No matter how many times he carves it the sigil disappears within a week, which he is sure the town is happy about.
Davian is just excited to see the heroes. They are just so strong, adventurous and above all free. He admired them, wanted to be one of them one day if he could save enough coin. Today after selling his wares he liked to watch the procession and what task they would be asked to complete.
Finally. Breachill. Aragelda wipes her brow. She was up at dawn for the last day of her journey from the Five Kings Mountains to this small town in Isger. Was this the day she was originally supposed to be married? It's so hard to keep track of time while on the road.
What is it that you want me to do here, gods? Can't you give me a sign or something? She touches the intricately carved hearth around her neck, then glances at her shield, painted with the holy symbols of the dwarven pantheon. Except Droskar of course. She certainly didn't need any guidance from the Furnace.
It's not yet noon. Maybe I can get a real breakfast somewhere to start with. She reaches into a pouch and pulls out two coppers. A very cheap breakfast? Druma was a lot more expensive to travel through than I realized. How can there be that many tolls? Maybe there's a pub here that will let me cook or wash dishes or something in exchange for a meal.
She looks around the busy streets. The Wizard's Grace. Sounds like a pub to me! Hmm. There's definitely a crowd gathering here.
"Excuse me!" She taps a dwarf in the crowd who came prepared with a chair. "Can you tell me what's going on?"
"...and furthermore, as hypothesized by Underhill in Dragons of the Lake District, it may be that this influence extends for many miles. If this is true, it could be possible to triangulate upon a dragon's location by studying the telltales signs and relative strength of its influence in surrounding communities, even if the people in those communities are completely unaware of its presence."
Edjarha pauses his writing, staring out the small window of his small rented room as he ponders. After a moment, he checks to be sure the ink has dried on the page, then closes his journal and neatly packs away his writing supplies in a small backpack.
Those answering the Call for Heroes must be beginning to arrive by now. Perhaps I can get a few interviews in before things get too hectic.
Slinging his light pack over his shoulder, the elf adjusts his spectacles and steps out into the corridor, down stairs, and out onto the street. Glancing wistfully at the door of the Reliant Book Company, he feels the disappointing heft of his purse.
Perhaps I'd better look into joining one of these adventures myself, if I'm ever going to afford those tomes Voz has behind the counter...
With that, he makes his way across the Western bridge before turning left and walking up to The Wizard's Grace.
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"Whuh?" exclaims the dwarf, as he turns around to see Aragelda. "You new in town? Today's the Call for Heroes. Thems that would be adventurers turn up at the town hall in about an hour, to answer the call for adventure.
"You gonna do that? Seems just the thing for a youngin' like your self... or are you one of those troublemakers?"
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Ingraham quickly realizes the reason for his vocal digestive tract. He smells a wondrous boar stew with lentils simmering on the hearth. At the bar is a tall human woman who sees the dwarf coming. "You here to answer the Call?" she calls out. When he nods to agree, she continues.
"Well, then, pull your belly up to the bar! First ale is on me, Trinil Uskwold! I assume you'll want some stew!" She quickly shoves a tankard of ale in front of him, which turns out to be a nice chocolatey coffee stout, perfect for breaking fast, a steaming hot bowl of stew, and a chunk of bread.
She then bangs a truncheon on the bar. "Attention! It looks like we have our first Hero today! What's your name, hero?"
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Davian sets up his stand, and can hear the first cheers from the Wizard's Grace. Just the thought of the traditional stew and stein gets his mouth watering... but he has to man his booth. He keeps his eyes open, was that a dwarf woman that just walked in? He doesn't recognize her.
And who is that gnome?
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Edjarha makes his way passed the bookstore, and to the Wizard's Grace. It is a long walk that takes him over the Breach Creek, and past the Breachill Archives, where he has spent many a long hour, researching.
As he passes the Breachill Town Hall, he sees a young, well dressed, even scholarly looking goblin woman. She is pacing back and forth in front of the doors of the town hall, her hands behind her back, mumbling to herself. As he walks by, he can hear her say in a distraught tone, "My Bumblebrashers. Why haven't I heard from my Bumblebrashers? Are my people trapped in the citadel?"
Gideon hops down from his perch, puts away his book and takes a moment to comb through his hair and heads over to talk to the goblin woman "Did you say Bumblebrashers? They were going to be my next stop... is something wrong?"
With noone at his stall currently Davian tosses a his wood chunk down onto the plank and covers it with a shabby looking cloth as he runs over to the Wizard's Grace. Using the sleeve of his shirt he cleans some grime from the window as he peeks inside to get a better look at the adventurers. "Wow!"
"Oh, that sounds like a great thing for me to do! Thank you!"
I shouldn't have doubted. The gods always send a sign.
She makes her way up to the bar. "Hello! I'm Aragelda Silvernail, and I'd like to join the Call for Heroes."
Edjarha's curiosity gets the best of him. "Excuse me, ma'am, but you seem to be in distress and I couldn't help overhearing. Of what citadel do you speak?"
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The bartender bangs her truncheon on the bar once again, causing Ingraham even more stress as his pint rattles, almost tipping over. "We have another brave soul! Aragelda Silvernail has come to answer the Call for Heroes!"
The bar ignites in a roar of
"So, Aragelda, where do you come from, and why are you answering the Call?" asks Trinil, as she places a pint and a bowl in front of the cleric.
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Edjarha recalls that the Bumblebrashers are a small local goblin tribe that lives in Citadel Altaerein, the abandoned Hellknight keep to the northeast.
The goblin woman replies, “Please, do allow me to introduce myself. I am Warbal, ambassador to the Bumblebrasher goblins of Hellknight Hill. It is my great honor to serve my fellow citizens of Breachill as the town’s official representative to the Bumblebrashers. I communicate with the Bumblebrashers, convey the town’s concerns and interests to them, and advocate on the tribe’s behalf. It is a duty I take very seriously—they are my people, after all. Hence why I am here today, and my rather distracted nature earlier. I hope you’ll forgive it.”
She continues, “The Bumblebrashers are a tribe of goblins who have, for years now, lived peacefully and in isolation in Citadel Altaerein, the former Hellknight keep on the hill just outside of town. Typically, every two weeks I meet with Helba, the tribe’s chieftain, on the road outside the keep. We discuss news, and I convey the town’s interests and hear any concerns that the tribe might wish me to bring before the council. It is a relationship of utmost importance, and Helba is normally punctual. But she has missed our previous two meetings, and I have seen plumes of smoke coming from the top of the citadel. The smoke is a chalky red in color—the tribe’s traditional color of distress. I fear that the Bumblebrashers are in danger, or that something dire has befallen them. It has sickened me with worry.”
As she points, Edjarha does indeed see some chalky red smoke coming from the vicinity of the former Hellknight's citadel.
"Oh! Well, I came from the Five Kings Mountains, and the gods sent me a sign to come here! I think the Call must be why."
She looks at the food and her stomach grumbles. After days of dwarven field rations, real food that wouldn't break a tooth smells amazing. She lowers her voice. "Is the meal free?"
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Ingraham quickly realizes the reason for his vocal digestive tract. He smells a wondrous boar stew with lentils simmering on the hearth. At the bar is a tall human woman who sees the dwarf coming. "You here to answer the Call?" she calls out. When he nods to agree, she continues.
"Well, then, pull your belly up to the bar! First ale is on me, Trinil Uskwold! I assume you'll want some stew!" She quickly shoves a tankard of ale in front of him, which turns out to be a nice chocolatey coffee stout, perfect for breaking fast, a steaming hot bowl of stew, and a chunk of bread.
She then bangs a truncheon on the bar. "Attention! It looks like we have our first Hero today! What's your name, hero?"
Ingraham is caught by surprise, but when he realizes there is a lot of hospitality for him, he brightens up. ”Ale, stew, and a beautiful lass. What more could’ai ask for?” Pulling up the stool and taking a deep whiff of the ale, he realizes this is something he could never find back in the pits at home. He drinks deeply, and finds himself in pure enjoyment. ”Huh?” The hammering catches him off guard.
When she declares his entry for him, the dwarf is stunned for a moment. Is this how it all starts? What Am’ai s’posed to do? This is do or die if I want to make my coin and name known. He then looks at his ale, and decides to do as his fellow dwarf would. Grabbing the tankard and raising it, he boldly declares, ”Ingraham, the Wild Digger! Brother of the Dovetal clan!”
I hope that sounded good.. The dwarf tries to cover his nervousness with another swing of the chocolately delight.
Gideon finds a good spot, hopefully with a nice glass of wine and pops open his little book to take notes on the Dwarf.
Ingraham... we'll have to shorten that to something else for a play, but goblins love it when the dwarves have some dirt.
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"Is the meal free?"
"Sure is, for Heroes. It is tradition. Mind you, if you don't actually stand up for the Call, I'll come lookin' for you!"
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The crowd also cheers loudly for Ingraham.
With that, Trinil calls out, "Are there any brave souls that wish to risk life and limb to become Heroes of Breachill?"
You swear she looked right at you when she said that!
"I see. I'm sorry for your distress, Warbal. I am Edjarha. I hope your people are well, despite these troubling signs. Perhaps the council could dispatch someone to check on them?" He pauses, and smiles apologetically. "Forgive me, here I am thinking out loud. I'm sure you've thought through such possibilities already. Still, I'm on my way to the Wizard's Grace to attend the Call for Heroes. Perhaps you could find someone there that would go and look in on your people?"
Hearing the extremely loud cheer Davian peeks further into the window and nearly falls down when Trinil looks at him. His heart races, nearly leaping out of his chest. His mind goes completely blank as he almost seems to move on autopilot. Without even thinking he quietly opens the door. Standing just barely inside his voice cracks as he holds his dagger at his side. "I..I'll go with them."
Every eye in the room turns to him and he turns beat red as most of the town erupts into laughter.
"The boy even old enough." One man says.
"He is going to get himself hurt or killed. Worse yet someone else killed." Another adventurer says.
"He should just stick to his nice carvings." Another woman's voice says.
Davian nearly turns from the room as he hangs his head low and apologetically, realizing what he just did.
"Well, thank you very much, and don't worry, I'm definitely in!"
She takes her bowl and mug and moves near Ingraham.
"Hello! It's sure nice to see another dwarf. I'm Aragelda Silvernail. Have you done the Call for Heroes before?"
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"Davian!" calls out the barkeep. "I've been wondering when you'd answer the call. As it is said, any may answer the call. If that is your wish, come here and have your stew and stein!"
To the crowd she turns again, "Do we not honor all that answer the call? They do in MY bar, Calmont!" she says, throwing a ratty old rag at a young halfling. "You can leave if you don't want to follow the traditions!"
With that, the halfling leaves, grumbling to himself.
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“I am certain something foul has befallen the Bumblebrashers—their leader, Helba, would not miss our meeting twice in a row for no reason, nor would the tribe signal its distress if something terrible were not amiss. I plan to present this information to the council and ask them to hire adventurers to contact my tribe.” she says.
“You are an adventurer! Are you not? You may be just one of the heroes I hope the council might hire on my behalf. But please, there is a system in place for a reason. Come with me into the meeting and listen to my petition. If you are up for my task, I beg you to offer your services to the council. You might be my tribe’s only hope!”
At this point, Edjarha sees Calmont, Voz's not always pleasant assistant at the Reliant Book Company stomping by, apparently on his way back home.
"Indeed, I am planning to step forward for this call. In fact, I'd best get inside before I miss it. Good luck with your petition, Warba." With a nod, Edjarha goes into the hall, pausing only to wonder what it is that has Calmont so grumpy this time.
Once inside, hearing a repeated call, Edjarha steps forward and answers in a level voice. "I will answer."
Davian's whole body shakes as he slowly walks forward and grabs a stein. What the f#&$ did I just do?!? He takes a long, hard drink and instantly begins choking, Most of what was in his mouth and cup spill all over his shirt as he sputters. "This tastes horrible!" He had never had any alcoholic beverage before this and so didn't know what to expect.
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”Adventure is what’ai came for, and’ai will stand for Breachill as well!” He chugs his tankard with that statement. Not bad, Grammy. Sounds pretty stoic to me. When Argelda sits next to him he flinches, not realizing she was even near him yet. He then calms down a bit.
”Ah, another kinfolk! Nice to meet’cha. This is me first time, to be honest.” Ingraham then looks around to see if anyone is in eavesdrop distance, ”I ain’t one for speeches, I came for action. How’dai sound just now?” Then he sees the reaction for the young human, and how he isn’t used to ale.
”Maybe I’m more nervous than I though. If he is getting a praise for truly being shy, mayhaps’ai worry too much.” Feeling as though he can relate to the young one, he calls him over. ”Young Master Davian! Come and sit with us. Is’yar first time drinking, right? Let us make merriment like kinfolk do!”
Gideon heads over to the table with Davian and Ingraham, missing out on the subtleties of their close in conversation, taking a moment to brush his hair one last time before introducing himself "Ahh, signing up to be heroes? My name's' Gideon and I'm working on a play... tell me a bit of your stories and I'm happy to keep your mug full while we chat."
"You sound like you know more about what's going on than I do!" She greets the newcomers to the table warmly. "Hi, Gideon! Well, I'm still at the beginning of my tale, I think. I'm on a mission from the gods."
Davian leans forward. "Which God? Did they actually speak to you?" His eyes sparkle with interest. "Ain't no Gods ever speak to me before." He looks down at the table sadly before looking to Gideon. "Not much to tell I am afraid. I have been here as long as I can remember. Parents either left me here or died when I was young. Folks 'round here can't seem to tell me anything about it." He shrugs it off as if it wasn't a big deal to him, but it was.
"Not much of a play to write about. Davian the orphan!" He mocks raising a glass before sitting it back down on the table, pulling out his dagger and begins carving his symbol into the table.
Gideon shakes his head "No, no no... goblins love that kinda stuff. I'm supposed to be visiting the local tribe and putting on a play for them... but I need some inspiration first. A play intertwined with the local traditions here would be fantastic. I don't put real people in my play anyway... too messy but people are still good for inspiration."
"Excuse me" Edjarha says, pausing as he walks by. "I don't mean to intrude, but did you say you were looking to visit a local goblin tribe? Would that be the Bumblebrashers, by chance? I only ask because I was just speaking with a woman outside who acts as a liaison between them and the town council; she's worried they may be in trouble." Turning to the rest of the table, he adds "Please forgive my rudeness, my name is Edjarha. I assume you are all here to answer the Call for Heroes as well?"
"Oh, well, I haven't spoken to them directly, of course, but they've sent me dreams. And the dreams told me to come here. So here I am! I know this has to be the right thing to do, though. You see, since I started on the journey, I've suddenly had...magic. While I was traveling, I stumbled over a root and hurt my leg pretty badly. But then I realized I could just fix it. I've never been able to do anything like that before."
She greets Edjarha.
"Oh, hello! Yes, we're all here for the Call!"
Aragelda, eager to be able to see everything, sits up in the front row.
Gideon makes a mental note to talk to the goblin pacing out front later, for now he needs the coveted back corner seat where he can see and observe the crowd best.
Davian follows into the Town Hall, not knowing what to expect. His whole body is still on cloud 9 as it is in shock. He finds a seat near the middle, so as not to be so eager enough to sit in the front, nor hiding in the back.
Maybe I can leave and noone will notice. He thinks to himself nervously as he looks back at the doors.
Edjarha takes a seat near the back and opens his journal, ready to write down any observations about the proceedings or the other adventurers.
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There are about 40 townspeople here, plus Warbal and the council.
With a sharp rap from her gavel onto the desk, a stern, dark-haired woman with a deeply furrowed forehead and kind eyes brings the assembled crowd to a hush.
“Welcome, neighbors and friends...” the dark-haired woman begins, her rich voice washing over the room, “... to the Breachill Town Council’s monthly Call for Heroes. I am Council President Greta Gardania, at your service. On behalf of my colleagues beside me, I promise you all that we will hear and consider today’s petition with the utmost discretion and care. There is no existence without community, as our town charter says.
“Today, our agenda includes one petition. Miss Warbal, our very own ambassador to the Bumblebrashers of Hellknight Hill, requests the help of heroes for a matter of utmost importance. Let’s hear her concerns in her own words, shall we? Miss Warbal?”
At this summons, Warbal emerges from the front row of benches. The well-dressed goblin woman makes her way to the foot of the dais’s steps. She clears her throat and begins her address to the council.
“Esteemed councilors,” Warbal says, with a frazzled tone to her voice. “It has been more than a month since I’ve been able to contact the Bumblebrashers. I fear that something terrible has befallen them. What’s more, I have seen my people’s distress signal coming from the top of Citadel Altaerein—”
Before the goblin can continue her petition, the door on the western side of the room flies open, as a young man, his eyes wide with panic, runs in shouting and waving his ink-stained hands. Billowing black smoke and flames follow him into the room: “Fire! There’s a fire! Everyone flee!”
Gideon listens in shock as he learns the Bumblebrashers have gone missing. The following yell for fire causes Gideon to drop his pen at his feet in further shock as they compound on each other.
Fire. Oh no! Was I too late? Aragelda has a look of sheer horror as she looks for the source of fire.
Having heard the goblin woman's tale already, Edjarha instead focuses on the other adventurers in the room, studying their reactions to the the plea and making notes in his journal. When the young man bursts into the room, he quickly blots the ink just written on his page and stows his precious notebook in his bag.