Nov 29, 2023 2:18 am
You've spent a month on in the wastes on a caravan cutting through the bones of The Old Empire, heading for Khazuul. You barter for survival—food, water, a ticket to Khazuul—in return for your skills. Carving out a living, you fend off marauders, stitch up the hurt, and tend to the beasts. In the dust and grit, a bond takes root among the four, birthing a company of adventurers.
Khazuul's cliffs loomed on the horizon, appearing three days prior to your ascent. You made brief farewells to the Caravan masters, and then, you ventured forth with the labourers. Enormous hoists inch up, ferrying supplies and men skyward. Halted at intervals by vertical waystations, for chains can only stretch so far. The vast lands of The Old Empire lay below, resembling a sprawling graveyard, as you ascended higher into the sky, solitude your only companion.
You made it to the summit at last. The heat up here is blistering, the sun almost within arm's reach. Only the fierce winds keep you from drowning in sweat. A lizard team driver, master of horse-sized reptiles, loaded the supplies, ready to ferry you across the arid ridge to Vanguard Bastion—the lone outpost in this wild expanse, civilization's solitary sentinel for a hundred miles.
From its vantage point, the Bastion surveys Khazuul, and as you draw nearer, the expansive, lush jungle within the cliffs materializes before your eyes.
The driver hollers toward the fort as they roll in, the gates grinding open, pulled by a massive, tusked beast. Urging his lizards past the yawning gates, you cross into Vanguard Bastion.
Inside, it's a lively boom town. The driver has to shout to part the crowds, mostly armed men wearing grim scowls. Thankfully, the scent of many unbathed humans and their industries is (almost) overshadowed by the aroma of nearby spiced meats sizzling on open fires.
A cacophony of conversations in a dozen languages mingles with the raucous chorus of drunken laughter. Somewhere in the distance, dogs bark incessantly. Yet, a constant backdrop is the racket of unoiled gears screeching and grinding—the great winches lowering men and supplies in and out of the jungles of Khazuul.
Scattered across the grounds, maybe two dozen proper buildings stand. Some repurposed stone ruins, others newer timber constructions - these comprise the barracks, smithies & tanneries, and administrative offices. In between, a maze of tents, yurts, and makeshift lean-tos sprawl from wall to wall—housing everything from private shelters and merchant stalls to field hospitals and gambling dens.
You dismount from the cart and gather you packs. You've made it, at last!
Khazuul's cliffs loomed on the horizon, appearing three days prior to your ascent. You made brief farewells to the Caravan masters, and then, you ventured forth with the labourers. Enormous hoists inch up, ferrying supplies and men skyward. Halted at intervals by vertical waystations, for chains can only stretch so far. The vast lands of The Old Empire lay below, resembling a sprawling graveyard, as you ascended higher into the sky, solitude your only companion.
You made it to the summit at last. The heat up here is blistering, the sun almost within arm's reach. Only the fierce winds keep you from drowning in sweat. A lizard team driver, master of horse-sized reptiles, loaded the supplies, ready to ferry you across the arid ridge to Vanguard Bastion—the lone outpost in this wild expanse, civilization's solitary sentinel for a hundred miles.
From its vantage point, the Bastion surveys Khazuul, and as you draw nearer, the expansive, lush jungle within the cliffs materializes before your eyes.
The driver hollers toward the fort as they roll in, the gates grinding open, pulled by a massive, tusked beast. Urging his lizards past the yawning gates, you cross into Vanguard Bastion.
Inside, it's a lively boom town. The driver has to shout to part the crowds, mostly armed men wearing grim scowls. Thankfully, the scent of many unbathed humans and their industries is (almost) overshadowed by the aroma of nearby spiced meats sizzling on open fires.
A cacophony of conversations in a dozen languages mingles with the raucous chorus of drunken laughter. Somewhere in the distance, dogs bark incessantly. Yet, a constant backdrop is the racket of unoiled gears screeching and grinding—the great winches lowering men and supplies in and out of the jungles of Khazuul.
Scattered across the grounds, maybe two dozen proper buildings stand. Some repurposed stone ruins, others newer timber constructions - these comprise the barracks, smithies & tanneries, and administrative offices. In between, a maze of tents, yurts, and makeshift lean-tos sprawl from wall to wall—housing everything from private shelters and merchant stalls to field hospitals and gambling dens.
You dismount from the cart and gather you packs. You've made it, at last!
OOC:
Welcome to Khazuul, everyone! Introduce your characters, stretch you legs, and get adventuring!
A towering Northman, as tall as they come though lean for his size, awaits you. Adorned in light armor with a brace of daggers strapped to his chest, he growls "About damn time we got some fresh help!" Gesturing to enter, he demands "Get in."
