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You all come from your shipbound trek across the Bladed Sea. You arrive at the City of RestenFord, the largest City on the Northern Continent. As the Bladed Sea is plagued with Dragon Turtles and more sea beasts, however, on this trek, several wizards came along, paid in platinum and Diamonds from the Clans' coffers to make sure you all got across safely.
The city is not as grand and lusterous as you'd think a port city would be. It is quaint with a variety of buildings in a style of sea serpents on the edge of the more elaborate houses. Clay Shingles of Red and green scales over wooden frames. Some more common houses have thatched roofs. It is a hodgepodge of People with the Castle standing tall over the City.
You are unloaded west of the town on the docks. It is kept neat and clean and heavily patrolled. Men in leather jack with kettle helms and shields. Clubs are seen as well as swords and daggers.With them a man writes down the cargo and passangers and gear.
"Welcome to the North. This is Restenford, the Safest port of call on the continent. These are our docks, the warehouses are in the city proper. To settlers no building here around the Dock. Plenty of land in the interior is up for the taking. Should you relocate here the fee is one silver a year." He says as he then gestures to the town.
' Inside at a Guard station, Adventuring Companies can declare there names and intent. That way we know if any persons here can aid us in our defense or if we can give them tasks or missions" He states as another one points at your group and then adds.
'This many settlers can seek encampment out side the northern gate house. There are Halfling beggars out that way though." He adds a bit unsure if he was being offensive or truthful.
"Sadly" The first one buts in "He is correct, they are left over Adventurers hirelings who came back without the parties and without coin to sustain them. So they beg at the northern gate"
"Do you know which way most of the travelers are going to set up encampments in the interior?" Gloin asks.
Linden Daubensprocket adjusts the straps of his chain shirt and steps boldly off the gangplank, warhammer clattering against his shield. His nose wrinkles at the salt air, but his chest swells as though he were about to stride into legend itself.
"Hark, comrades! The Bladed Sea spat us forth, and yet we stand unbroken — a testament to the Forge-Father’s favor!" he bellows, drawing curious stares from dockhands and guards alike. "This Restenford may be quaint, but every fortress was once but a humble hamlet until stout folk took hammer to stone and courage to heart. By Flandal’s silver beard, let us plant our boots in this new land and make of it a bulwark for all smallfolk!"
He slaps his shield for emphasis, nearly toppling the nervous goat tethered at his side.
"As for encampments, noble dwarf," Linden adds, nodding gravely to Gloin, "the question is not whither we go, but whither villainy dares show its snout. Wherever the breach may open, there Daubensprocket shall be the plug! Still… northward sounds fitting — I should like to see these so-called beggars, for oft among the downtrodden hides the ember of true valor."
He grins broadly, clearly imagining some grand tableau of heroism that exists only in his head. His goat, unimpressed, tugs at a bit of dockside weed.
Behind Linden sat a dwarf, a traveling chest serving as his seat. While barely over four feet tall, he was massive. From his barrel chest, to his arms which bulged beneath his shirt, the best way to describe him was massive. His gut, likewise, showed that he was a dwarf built for practical strength, with no concern for glamour or appearances. His features, though, were mostly hidden by his helm, Baraz-Gul. Every inch of it was covered in runic prayers to Moradin, a clear sign of his identity and priority. The extravagant relic was clearly at odds with the rest of his equipment. Plain. Functional, up to and including the fur cloak for warmth in the cold northern climate.
”If everyone shares the same enthusiasm, we will do just fine.” He said. If he smiled it was hidden under his beard, one of the few parts of his face not covered. While he was not one for large boasts or the roaring of words, he had to admit that he was fond of Linden’s zeal. The fact that the gnome was obviously as strong as any barbarian tribesman of the north made him respect the passion, rather than laugh at it. And seeing Gloin’s robes? He assumed some sort of magical profession by then. An auspicious sign for the journey ahead.
"Ah, it is good to be on solid land again." Tommy states as he makes his way down the ship's wide plan holding the leads for his two donkeys, one which is loaded up with a pack saddle and the other without anything aside the lead and halter that keeps it beside the other donkey. The saddlebags-laden donkey has leads trailing behind it that connect to the halters of seven goats (1 billy, the rest nannies) and seven chickens (1 rooster, the rest hens).
"Sounds like there are some potential hirelings for us by the northern gate house. Shall we get a room at an tavern for the night and start our exploration tomorrow, gents?" Tommy asks the fellow ship passengers he befriended on the long sea voyage, who like him, made the sea journey to found a new home somewhere in the unclaimed lands of the continent the ship docked at.
Tommy inspects his livestock, and is satisfied all of them are still healthy.
Akkramar hoped off to solid land, and looked around - ”Any tavern you would recommend?” - he asked the man.
Linden Daubensprocket hoists his pack and gives a sage nod, eyes twinkling above his beard.
"A tavern, you say? Ha! I strive mightily to avoid any establishment low enough to allow me as a customer! For if they’ll admit Daubensprocket, then surely their standards are questionable!"
He slaps his shield with a laugh, clearly pleased with his own wit. "Still—solid walls, a fire for Flandal’s blessing, and a bench stout enough to hold my hammer are hard things to pass up after a sea voyage."
”Stout benches and stout beers” - Akkramar added.
”Where we are going there will be no taverns.” Bharaz said as he got to his feet. ”It would be a shame to miss out on one last chance for comfort.”
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Akkramar hoped off to solid land, and looked around - ”Any tavern you would recommend?” - he asked the man.
"None can hold you lot, however seeing as you might be kin, I suggest Falco's Tavern. He and his business partner are dwarves. Supposedly ex-adventurers, caravanners and well failed prospectors. Not alot of rooms for you though. The Inn of the Dying minotaur has alot of rooms, but not sure if you'll get the rates you'd need for the entirerty of you lot. However the Baron has set out an area for you all past the north gate. Your, Thane or whoever sent High Mage Pelitar the missive." He says as he chuckles.
"Not many dwarves can surprise that ol' wizard"The gaurdsman says as he laughs
”An ale at Falcon’s cannot hurt, surely?” - he nods at his companions.
"An ale before we go find this lot that has been set up for us would be a grand idea." Gloin says with a nod.
"Ah, it is a good for a brewer to sample what other brewers have come up with. Falco's sounds good to me."
Bharaz nodded as he followed the others. As far as adventures went, he saw no better place to start.
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The town is sprawling with a variety of shops and trades. Most seem to be fishermen; others are farmers. Still, the town is well defended by a variety of people. As you move about, you end up finding Falcos' A two-story wood and waddle with brick showing behind the waddle. Its roof is tiled in clay. The Clay is a green-blue hue.
The Bar has two dwarves, two grizzled fellows, in their middle years. One is missing a couple of fingers and has a scar, and the other is skinny with an eye patch. They look up and see the newcomers and turn to each other.
The one with the scar smiles. A few metal teeth can be seen. In Dwarven "Welcome Kin, to my hearth and home, please have a seat, and we can get ye some booze! Names Falco, and my partner here is Gap." He said as he gestured to a table.
Gloin talks to some locals to see what he can find out about previous excursions.
Bharaz made his rounds. He was taking his time to enjoy some comforts before the hardships to come. But he made sure to ask the locals about what they knew of any dangers that were abound. The last thing he wanted was to wander into an orc encampment or a troll's nest. And he assumed that they'd be much more likely to share such information, rather than tell anything which might be costly to themselves.
Akkramar claimed a seat, setting his pack down with a grunt. He raised two fingers for an ale, then glanced at the scarred dwarf and his partner.
“Quiet place you’ve got here,” he said, half a smile tugging his beard. “Must take some work to keep it that way.”
Tommy clambers up onto a bar stool to stand on it and extends his arm out to shake hands, "Pleased to meet you, Falco, Gap. I'm Tommy. Nice place you have here. How long have you been set up here for?" Tommy then sits down on stool, "The lot of us are going to be looking for a place inland to claim. Do either of you have any suggestions which direction from town we might have better luck finding unclaimed land?" As Tommy starts to wait for a reply he quickly adds, "I'm a fellow brewer. Are there any particular local flora you would advise to avoid or acquire for brewing?"
Linden stomps up to the offered table with the clatter of chain and shield, hammer already thunked down as though to mark his claim. His eyes shine with delight at the dwarves’ scars and eyepatch.
“Aha! Fellows marked by valor!” he declares, voice booming enough to draw a few startled looks from other patrons. “Metal teeth, missing fingers, an eye like a closed portcullis — aye, these are the signs of warriors who have stared villainy in its glaring maw and struck back! Falco, Gap, you honor us!”
He plunks himself onto the bench, beaming as though he’d just found kin long lost. “Tell me true, sirs: how many times has your tavern been besieged? Do the rafters still rattle with the echoes of giants beaten back? And is it true that ale poured in a clay-green tiled house tastes twice as stout? By Flandal’s beard, I must know!”
Without waiting for answers, Linden waves his hand theatrically. “And another question, if you’ll humor a gnome’s curiosity — what villain most vexes this fair town? Goblins, pirates, sea serpents in boots? Speak plain, so that I may etch the first chapter of our saga!”
He leans forward with expectant eagerness, clearly thrilled to bombard the dwarves with queries as though he were cross-examining history itself.
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Linden Daubensprocket leans in over the table, eyes bright and voice still far too loud for “private” conversation. His shield rests against the bench, but he punctuates his words with grand gestures of his warhammer all the same.
“My friends! Falco and Gap spun me their tale — though I say ‘tale’ with generosity, for it was less the thunder of saga and more the creak of a half-shut door. Their ‘adventures’ were but tavern scuffles and trips gone sideways.”
He grins broadly, lowering his voice only a notch, as if sharing a conspiratorial secret. “Yet amid their rusted yarns gleamed bright ore! They spoke of ruins scattered through the hinterlands, old castles standing watch over nothing but weeds. And—by Flandal’s flaming forge!—a gnomish warren of ancient days, now squatted in by kobolds.”
Linden slaps his shield for emphasis, drawing a few glances from neighboring tables. “What better sign could there be? A breach once held by gnomekind, now overrun by villains who skulk in the dark. It cries out for brave boots to march and for hammer to strike! Kobolds or castles, the first to fall shall be written in the chronicles of Daubensprocket—and, aye, in the chronicles of us all.”
He sits back proudly, clearly imagining the group’s name already etched into some future ballad.
Akkramar took a slow pull from his mug before speaking - “No kobolds or glory in what I heard. A new city’s going up on the coast. But the quarry that feeds half the work around here? Trouble. Projects are stalling.”
He set the mug down with a dull thud - “Stone dries up, so does coin. Could be a problem—or an opening, if we’re smart.”
After chatting with the fellow patrons at the bar for a bit, Tommy moves over to join the new friends he made on the ship at their table, carrying a large pitcher of ale in one hand and a stack of glasses in the other, and places them on the table, "A pitcher of ale for us to use to make a toast to our future adventures, my friends."
After Tommy gets himself arranged in his seat, he starts to fill the empty glasses with the ale, "Pass them around but don't quaff them yet, as you're going to want to toast to the the news I gathered."
After the glasses have been filled and each of his friends have one, Tommy continues, "I take it you would like to have your names immortalized as the dwarves who reclaimed an ancient dwarven site that does not appear on the old Dwarven Kingdom maps."
Tommy raises his glass, "To the future glories you will earn, my friends!"
Bharaz remained quiet as the others spoke. Ancient castle ruins. A gnome warren overrun by kobolds. And dare he believe it? A lost dwarven hold. The very thought of it made his heart stir. He was, what many called, a sundered dwarf. Whose heritage had been lost in ancient disaster. The idea of reclaiming what was lost was both terrifying and exhilarating. But he tempered his excitement, for he was a cleric of the Forge Father, and he could not bring shame through reckless talk or action.
He lifted his mug slowly, the weight of his helmet and holy symbol of Moradin pressing on him.
”We must be cautious. The lives of our kin are in our hands,” he said deliberately. ”I believe we should first secure a safe place to settle. Only then can we consider striking further afield. And we must be cautious, as large rats plague these lands, and people are going missing.”
He paused, letting the words sink in. ”Kobolds are dangerous. They swarm and lay traps. While the chronicles of Daubensprocket may call to us, we should venture forth only with proper preparation. Both in intelligence and numbers. I would sooner find a ruined fortification to fortify and improve. Something defensible from the start, while we plan our next steps.”
Taking a deep breath, he turned to Tommy. ”This lost dwarven holding. Do we know if it fell to invaders, or was it claimed by the land itself? While my heart yearns to see it, we should only settle in it if it is practical.” He took another sip from the mug, steadying himself as he waited for the reply.
"The fellow who was telling me about it said a couple dwarves were went out to excavate it." Tommy looks around for the fellow that was telling him about the dwarven site, "Maybe he's still in here and can tell us more than the bit he already told me."
Linden strokes his beard as Bharaz speaks, nodding gravely, as though the weight of a thousand chronicles pressed upon his stout shoulders.
“Aye, Brother Silverhelm, your words ring true. Kobolds are no jesting matter. They swarm like hornets, nip with poison darts, and their tunnels bristle with traps enough to fell an army. Many a brave fool has rushed at them and found only his name carved in the memorial stones. I understand why stout hearts might balk at such a venture.”
He raises his warhammer a hand’s breadth, then lets it rest again against the bench. “But fear not, comrades! If you would rather first seek ruins easier to tame — a fort to claim, a hall to strengthen, a castle to brace — then by Flandal’s flaming beard, Linden Daubensprocket shall march with you! The breach is where my boots are planted, whether it yawns before us in kobold warrens or in the crumbling walls of some wizard’s haunt.”
He flashes a wide grin, eyes glinting with eagerness. “So name the first step, and I shall stride it with you. For every quest, whether small or grand, leads us nearer to the sagas yet unwritten.”
"Should we then register as an Adventuring Company in case we want to investigate any of these events, and make way to the lot we should be assigned to?"
"We should. We need to decide on a name for our group first. Any suggestions for what name we want to be known as? I would suggest one that does not include one of our names, so as not to give the impression that the rest of us are expendable."
Tommy lifts his mug and sips his ale slowly as he waits to hear suggestions from his companions.
"The Unexpendables?" Tommy suggests without any emphasis to indicate he likes the suggested name, but wanted to do his part and at least make a suggestion for the group's registered adventuring group name.
"Works for me" - Akkramar chuckled.
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"Welp if you want you can ask for a Mercenaries writ at one of the gates. The Barony could always use more. But just know its dangerous beyond the walls of a town or city. Few homesteaders make it. if you do take a job, the guardhouse will pay you. If its a BIG job the Castle will have an audience and see you. The Baron is eager to find other strong individuals who can raise towns. He wants the north to be a place of strength and you know free from the central lands warring kingdoms." Gap says having come to drink with you all. The Dirtier of the Dwarven owners seemingly drinking alongside, but with a good dwarven stout bottle he graciously pours into your guys glasses.
"Humorous. But..." Bharaz said, pausing as he listened to Gap. The idea of earning gold spoke to him, for it was clear that they would need it for their settlement to flourish. Just like they'd probably have to look into the quarry business to get the stone needed to repair any ruined castle that they claimed.
A slight smile was all but hidden behind his beard. "We have five dozen settlers who are relying on us. If it were not for them, I'd sign my name to that.." He leaned back, looking at the ceiling. "Perhaps...the Stonekin Company?" He said, some uncertainty in his voice. Given that their expedition included many a halfling, he wasn't certain how well it fit. "No...perhaps...the Keystone Pact?" He added, leaning into the settlement angle. "Or perhaps The Bonehill Wardens? Something that inspires confidence for those who rely on us. Maybe even drive home our claim."
"The reclaimers?"
Tommy closes his eyes as he envisions a possible future homestead he and his friends will found...a lake and river, plains on one side of the river, hills at the foot of a mountain on the other side of the river, with a thick forest on the opposite shore of the lake...the sounds of the small waves reaching the shore, the faint echoes of dwarven forge hammers, and the sounds of gulls above small fishing boats, the feel of the wind on his face...
"What about..." Tommy pauses to enjoy the vision for a few seconds more, "The Founders?"
"The Founders sounds good to me." Gloin says.
Bharaz nodded, a smile forming on his face. ”A title we shall earn. Let us drink to it!” He said, raising his mug.
"Deal" - Akkramar raises his mug.
Linden clambers up onto his bench, mug in hand, his chest puffed out as if he were twice his height. He clears his throat with dramatic gravity before raising his ale high.
“Comrades! The choices are laid before us like a banquet of destiny. A quarry to claim, a dwarven excavation to uncover, a rat-plagued town to save, and—aye—the gnome warren beset by kobolds! If there is any justice in the chronicles of the world, then surely our feet were meant to tread that gnomish soil, and our hands to free it from scaled usurpers!”
He pauses, glancing sidelong at Bharaz with a knowing look, then adds with exaggerated sympathy. “Yet I know, for some stout hearts, the thought of kobold swarms chills the marrow. Aye, I understand that not all bellies can bear the storm. And so, if my companions deem a gentler task more fitting for our first steps, then so be it! For Linden Daubensprocket has the intestinal fortitude, the iron sinew, and the indomitable spirit to attempt any of these offerings—be they rats, ruins, or raging reptilians!”
He slams down his mug, grinning from ear to ear. “So name the venture, friends, and let it be known: Linden shall march boldly to it, head held high, beard bristling, and hammer ready!”
Bharaz listened to Linden, taking a moment to mentally follow along. Only when his fellow had finished his speech did the cleric look to the rest of the group.
”Our comrade speaks from the heart, and shows remarkable restraint. For both of our people’s, our heritage is within reach. I would advise, however, that we begin with the quarry. As we will need the stone within regardless of where settle. Be it Bonehill Castle, a liberated gnomish home, or a rebuilt dwarven mine. As The Founders, the quarry would be the strongest stepping stone towards our purpose here.”
Sound good?
"The Dwarf Excavation might be a good place to start. If they put in good work there, we would have a starting point already to build on." Gloin says.
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You all settle the settlers into a camp outside the North Gate. It is withing an hour walk to the Gaurd house and gate. The Guards not willing to come any further from their post.
The Halflings there are amenable to joining you. Though other halflings watch them not sure if this lot was too unsavory.
Once there you learn from a Guard the nessecary paths to the quarry. It will take a week of travel (A Humans week) to get there and investigate the town and its issues.
Three paths Riverside, Through the wilderness, or by an old sparse road.
"My first instinct is to use the road, even if it is sparsely traveled" - Akkramar suggests - "Otherwise the riverside is also an option, hopefully easy enough to follow, and an endless supply of fresh water"
"Walking by the river would indeed save our water supplies as we make our way there, particularly for the animals that will be coming with us. I will see if some of the halflings by the gate would mind watching our lot and some of my milking goats and hens while we head off to investigate the quarry."
”If the river leads to it, then I see no reason not to follow it. I agree; that conserving our supplies is always a valid concern.”
Gloin grumbles about the water, but follows along.