[Please feel free to edit this as you like.]
Adren sat atop a small copse of trees overlooking Brindol. He relaxed his mind and allowed his gaze to jump around the horizon, focusing on any small detail. Why do the birds feed in one area but not another? Why does the halfling barge have no passengers? Why have certain wild berries been harvested but not others? It must all be related to the hobgoblin movements. The hobgoblins. That’s why he came Brindol. Their recent activity had his clan elders concerned so he has been tasked with finding out what the humans in Brindol know. Adren has never been completely comfortable around humans. He could run with a pack of dogs or sing with the birds but shifty, unpredictable humans are tough to read. Stiffening his resolve, he wrapped his nature-stained cloak around him and strode towards the town. Perhaps he could make friends with one of the Dragonborn he had seen move through the gate…
Biatch stepped off the trade ferry in the wee hours of the morning. She preferred not to deal with the halflings who had abandoned her like everyone else in her life had abandoned her. Still, she knew the river and knew how to travel along it for cheap. This trip only cost half a flagon of rum.
The next day she awoke late in the afternoon, the remained half flagon drained during the night. Bleary-eyed, she made her way to the tavern for breakfast. It usually took a week for her to be run out of town but she was in a foul mood and decided to get an early start on Brindol.
The town of Brindol rose in front of Donar. It would be the perfect place to make a name for himself. They had a shrine to Bahamut but it was unmanned so with a little effort he could be the word of Bahamut in this part of Elsir Vale. There was also a college of Ioun where he might find help deciphering the oracle’s prophecy. One line would always send shivers down his scales, “The ancient enemy shall rise again.“
Inside the Antler and Thistle Donar ask the half-elven barkeep for a beer.
“What’s your name, oh large and powerful one?”
“Wonderful! I am a charity that could use all the donors I can get!”
Donar never understood human (or half-elf) sense of humor. “My clan gave me Donar both for my generous nature and the similarity to my Family name.”
“Well, I think it is a noble name. Please have a seat and enjoy your drink!”
“Elandrasil Sylaria, the time to leave is upon us.” Larindel’s voice had a sing-song quality shared by most Eladrin.
“But I am not ready yet. I haven’t gotten to meet the humans.”
“The choice to stay in the schooner all day was yours. As our leaving is imminent your preparations are necessary. To delay would accentuate the jeopardy of our return as presently the moon is nearly eaten!” The merchant master felt like a baby sitter. At least the favor was for the noble Finestra house.”
“I have made my mind to stay here. It will be an adventure!” Elan often acted on impulse but her instincts never let her down.
The merchant was flabbergasted. “Oh Elandrasil Sylaria! Your father would objurgate me and your sisters… Oh Elandrasil Sylaria! Your sisters would forswear me!”
“Larindel, do not be so histrionic. My nature is as plain to my family as the stars to a sage. Now away before the moon is finished and Melanda retires.”
Larindel was truthfully glad to be rid of Elan and so did not protest much more. Elan, however, was full of excitement and wonder when she spotted an elf. He looked a bit serious and more than a bit dirty
- almost a disgrace to feykin - but she had a cantrip that could fix it. Seeing him enter a tavern made her feel more excitement. Young Eladrin say that humans drink two parts water to one part piss straight from a bedpan. She didn’t really believe it. Not really.
Longbreath slept in the thick bramble. Most of the bandits in these parts were squishy soft-flesh creatures. Humans mostly or hobgoblins. Not that he minded a good fight with bandits but he thought it better to sleep soundly at night and be prepared during the day. The brambles didn’t bother Longbreath—his scales were far too tough for mere thorns to puncture. He could march through forest so dense that only an elf could keep up.
His destination was Brindol. There he would build the new Arkosia. Some people laughed at him for having such a dream. Not to his face of course. And Dragonborn never laughed at another’s dream no matter how big. Striving towards a big dream is just as honorable as succeeding at a smaller one.
His first thought was to rebuild Arkosia in Overlook. It was larger, more strategically located, and closer to more Dragonborn clans. But on visiting Overlook he realized that the city was lousy with politicians and he had not the patience to suck up to a lot of effete cowards who did not deserve the power they had. Better to start in a smaller town. Perhaps when he had more renown he could return to Overlook but until then Brindol would be perfect. Many villages depended on it’s protection to keep the roads clear from bandits and it had good trade.
Once in Brindol he headed to the tavern. Once he found other adventurers it would be an easy job to form them into a band do whatever needed doing. The path to honor and glory would become clear and then Arkosia would rise again.