The port city of Othello; It was a major center of trade for the nation of Wulfheim, an entire sector of the cylindrical settlement dedicated to the trading of foreign goods that came straight from the port no more than a wall away. On one particular day however, the most interesting cargo the ships brought to port were their passengers.
A loud snore pealed through the air as the imposing viking warlord, Taelir af Audur, fell asleep on his feet, not even quite off the boat. This was a fantastically frustrating moment for his less threatening companion, a small Half-Elf Cleric by the name of Morrigan, who pushed him with all her might to no avail. They were sidestepped by a massive Dragonborn adorned in heavy plate, an equally massive great axe slung across his back. He gave a look to the two, mild confusion expressed for the warlord’s odd behavior. Morrigan could only give an awkward smile before Taelir was startled awake, his first reaction to draw his sword causing the untimely end of a nearby fishing boat as a fantastic energy shot forth from the blade. The Dragonborn, a Paladin of Bahamut by the name of Sel’Zanath, was quick to make his exit at that point, wheeling around on one foot and heading down onto the stone floor of the port. Morrigan sighed. p. Not far from there, another adventurer was just waking up. He quietly mused to himself that he must’ve been at one hell of a party, considering he hadn’t the foggiest as to when he ended up in the cargo hold of a boat. Of a wiry, chiseled frame and sword and shield at his side, Matthias was a fighter far from his home, likely against his will.
“Ooo, what have we here?” were his first actual words, immediately distracted from his plight by a dull glow coming from one of the nearby crates. His longsword temporarily repurposed as a crowbar, he pried the crate open, finding a rune-covered metallic body. Prodding it lightly must have been the activation sequence, as the Warforged awoke soon after Matthias had done so. Orbs seemed embedded into the being’s hands, and it had the eldritch look of a Warlock’s machine. “Good morning big guy!” Matthias greeted the Warforged energetically, figuring he had nothing to lose if it was all just one big drunken dream anyway. “I’m Matthias, who’re you?” The construct thought for a moment, as if searching a massive archive of names it once had.
“Relic,” he said finally, his voice that of a wisened old man, metallic as it was. It was around this time that Matthias realized that he was currently standing up to his knees in water. Relic made a passing comment, analytical in its nature, about the currently diminishing status of the boat. The two both made haste to exit and reach land as soon as possible, though Relic’s unique condition as a heavy metallic man made the doing difficult, eventually forcing him to climb the stone that made up the port itself. The new Relic-shaped hole in the boat made sure that any other cargo inside was not finding its way out.
A few of the port guards tried to stop the two ship jumpers, one finding himself skipping like a stone across the water due to Matthias’ nervous reflexes. The other died tragically as Relic attempted to copy the fighter, accidentally suplexing the guard into the water and breaking his neck on impact. Adding to the chaos was a strangely robed blonde man, who had begun accosting Sel’Zanath about his boots before breaking his own neck and falling into the ocean. It seemed as if the entire port were in chaos the moment these adventurers arrived, and someone had to put a stop to them.
A nasal voice pealed through the air, causing silence in the port harbor. Not out of fear of authority, but rather it really hurt everyone’s ears. The voice was attached to a rather gaudily dressed elf with a nose longer than should have fit his face. He was flanked on either side by two dark skinned humans, one male and one female.
“Stop! Stop this immediately, you damned hooligans!” He waved his arms hysterically, already beginning to lose his composure. “I am the Captain of the Port Authority, and I demand that you stop!” The assembly of adventurers began to gravitate towards the center of the harbor where the elf stood, each feeling (not incorrectly) that they were the ones being regarded. “I will have you all locked up till you’re shackled skeletons!” His breathing was heavy from hyperventilation. A few of the adventurers attempted to reason with the man, citing ignorance and misunderstanding, though Matthias only succeeded in convincing the guards to get a few drinks and that he’d catch up with them.
The Port Captain was insulted and outraged by his hired swords’ inability to follow orders, drawing his weapon, claiming execution for each and every one of the adventurers. It wasn’t long before he was a lifeless form on the cobblestone ground. Before any could turn tail and escape what was likely just another mistake, Taelir halted them in their tracks. To them, he gave an offer. Firstly, there would be no record of the calamitous arrival at Othello, and second, they were each offered things they each would find merit in. Arms and armor, money, alcohol; the condition was to travel with him on an errand. There would be life-threatening dangers on this journey, but they would be rewarded at each leg of it. None could see any reason to disagree. With that, the adventuring troupe under Taelir af Audur was formed, and as such this event was celebrated in the nearby tavern. However the tavern not long after suddenly filled with hundreds of salmon, so festivities were moved to the Dragon Tail Inn. The alcohol was better anyway.