The player characters find themselves in the sleeping quarters of a barracks. Not two days earlier they were lowly adventurers trouncing across the barren wilderness looking for maidens to rescue, or orcs to slay.
Each of them from vastly different backgrounds, with tales from lands far away and a unique history all their own, yet they have all come here for the same reason... Money. A promising allure for a common adventurer, and the sales pitch put forward by the Concordian guild-mate who recruited them. Silvered tongued he was, crafty with his words enough to make joining the Concordian Guild sound appealing to even common folk.
The town of Palma Flora was once a fishing village, in ages long past, until the nobles and traders from Neverwinter discovered it. What luck it was for them to find it as well, a coastal paradise on the edge of oblivion, out of the prying eyes of the rest of the world. For who would dare sail this far south?, who would dare sail this close to those accursed storms?. A fools errand for any who might seek to claim it from them. Palma Flora these days is a bustling trade route, used commonly by all those who risk sailing these waters. Mercenaries, merchants, pirates and even the occasional Elvish battalion, the town of Palma Flora bustles endlessly. It's main advantage, despite this though is it's access to the Shattered Coast, and the lands beyond the endless storm. While reaching them is no small feat, the history and riches that lay beyond are uncountable, and those brave enough to venture through and hardy enough to return have done so with treasure enough to make even the most lordly nobles eyes water. Gold beyond measure, gemstones so plentiful they could pave the streets in emerald and ruby. some have even returned with artifacts from the time before man, before elves, from the time of the old giants, from the time of the Great War.
Looking around the room whether out of anxiousness or cunning, they begin to introduce themselves to their new compatriots. One by they they give details and account of their journey, where they came from and what their specialty in life is. Whether sly and Roguish or a brutish Barbarian, Wizard of the arcane or a fighter keen in the ways of battle, it mattered not, for they were all here.
The room around them lay adorned with typical sleeping quarter furniture, some beds in which to sleep, chairs and tables, but the decor was something else. Trimmed with golden threaded bindings, the tapestry hanging from the walls was bright red, another band of golden thread bordered around a shielded crest in the center, and in its heart the head of a dragon, Black as night with a silvery sword pierced through its skull. The insignia of the Concordia. Being the largest guild west of the Wildermount, it's little wonder they can afford such lavish and ornate finery.
Each of them from vastly different backgrounds, with tales from lands far away and a unique history all their own, yet they have all come here for the same reason... Money. A promising allure for a common adventurer, and the sales pitch put forward by the Concordian guild-mate who recruited them. Silvered tongued he was, crafty with his words enough to make joining the Concordian Guild sound appealing to even common folk.
The town of Palma Flora was once a fishing village, in ages long past, until the nobles and traders from Neverwinter discovered it. What luck it was for them to find it as well, a coastal paradise on the edge of oblivion, out of the prying eyes of the rest of the world. For who would dare sail this far south?, who would dare sail this close to those accursed storms?. A fools errand for any who might seek to claim it from them. Palma Flora these days is a bustling trade route, used commonly by all those who risk sailing these waters. Mercenaries, merchants, pirates and even the occasional Elvish battalion, the town of Palma Flora bustles endlessly. It's main advantage, despite this though is it's access to the Shattered Coast, and the lands beyond the endless storm. While reaching them is no small feat, the history and riches that lay beyond are uncountable, and those brave enough to venture through and hardy enough to return have done so with treasure enough to make even the most lordly nobles eyes water. Gold beyond measure, gemstones so plentiful they could pave the streets in emerald and ruby. some have even returned with artifacts from the time before man, before elves, from the time of the old giants, from the time of the Great War.
Looking around the room whether out of anxiousness or cunning, they begin to introduce themselves to their new compatriots. One by they they give details and account of their journey, where they came from and what their specialty in life is. Whether sly and Roguish or a brutish Barbarian, Wizard of the arcane or a fighter keen in the ways of battle, it mattered not, for they were all here.
The room around them lay adorned with typical sleeping quarter furniture, some beds in which to sleep, chairs and tables, but the decor was something else. Trimmed with golden threaded bindings, the tapestry hanging from the walls was bright red, another band of golden thread bordered around a shielded crest in the center, and in its heart the head of a dragon, Black as night with a silvery sword pierced through its skull. The insignia of the Concordia. Being the largest guild west of the Wildermount, it's little wonder they can afford such lavish and ornate finery.