Warren had lost everything in the destruction of his home and family due to those monsters… those walking mechanical contraptions known as Warforged. He hated them, hated whatever brought them into this world. For a brief moment he wished the Waste was still the hated, barren wasteland it had always been. At least then you knew what dangers laid ahead. With the lands healing the damage wrought both recently and centuries ago, new found colonization brought many serious hazards with it. Still having lost everything he recalled his wife’s Sheree’s last words to seek out their son Melo who had left so long ago to Celest-hem. Picking up his smithy maul and hammer he stands to head out when the embodiment of his hatred standing at the bar.
Ryershil gave his discourse and set the groups in motion, his underlings handing out the party team arrangements as he thought prudent for those who were present. The famous treasure hunter Tik-Rundar Nachal led one group down a underground passage leading out of the room. Down another path, a group composed of the mercenary duo Beast Talon and a hodge-podge of casters began moving down their own corridor. The muscle-bound thugs followed with a cacophony of taunts and jeers aimed at the spell-casters. After a few minutes peace returned to the lower area and the warrior-monk headed out.
Ryershil returned to the main common room in the inn above to discover the last group of interest to him. The monk’s comrades consisting of the Un-living Grier, brilliant Lorne Starwhisper and Teth-nathel Stormwhisper the Eladrin-kin standing together acknowledging him. The only one not account for was Marion. They no doubt wondering what news he brought.
Near them was Adam Lightbringer, the new recruit who showed great promise as a man of the Cloth of Bahamut. Beyond them was the Warforge known as Armor Geddon. It was an appropriate name if the tales held true. Unbeknownst to everyone, Fate would test it this very evening.
Losing sight of all else Warren kicks an empty chair out of his path and raises his mighty maul to smash it against the mechanical abomination’s head. Sparks fly and in a blur of motion the room bursts into chaos. More chairs are thrown down and blades are drawn. Warren readies for another swing and from one heartbeat to the next is suddenly held by his throat by an Eladrin. Choking, he spits venom in his garbled words as blind rage takes hold of him. His maul is stripped from him by the abomination and broken by its inhuman arms. It speaks in words he cannot hear as he sees his first creation, his maul, shattered in two. How many things have these things taken from his world?
He is summarily thrown to the side like so much garbage and left to his thoughts as the metal cretin and its minions leave the bar.
Within minutes the patrons that remain return to whatever trivial topics entertained them prior to the outburst. Eyes and conversations eventually turn away from the man lying in a heap in the corner. Before long, a dark hooded woman about four and a half feet in stature stops to kneel beside him and offers a youthful hand joined by soothing words. She whispers to him as eyes of amber gaze upon him, “How sweet would it be to exact vengeance upon thine enemies? I can help you claim such a thing, even from them. It requires a negligible cost, of course.” With his bruised pride and the dimmest of opportunities before him, he responds as any resolute man would.
“What do I have to do!?”
TO BE CONTINUED