Continent of Antora-1st Era-Month of The Falling Star
Just outside Port Natale

Generals Gairhime, Thorik, and Glenwing sat atop their horses staring out over the army amassed before them. It has finally come to something like this, to end the war between Humans, Dwarves and Elves. After so many years of fighting, ignoring the obvious threat at the doors of Antora, it has come to this. The three shared solemn glances before returning their stares once more to the army before them. Ahead of the mixed army of Humans, Dwarves, and Elves, stood the horde of monstrosities. Standing in front of the opposing army were many horrid looking creatures, Liches of legend it seems. Suddenly a war horn blew, and the monstrosities charged towards the Generals' army. The thunderous clash of the two armies was deafening and could be heard even in the quiet forests of Snowfall and the Mountains of Kahlrog.

-3 Days into battle-General Thorik (Port Natale)

"Glenwing!! Get our backs!" Thorik snarled towards the Elf. "Me and Gairhime can't take on all the undead freaks ourselves!" With a guttural roar, Thorik swung his hammer down crushing the knees of the skeleton in front of him. If it keeps going like this more than just us 3 will fall today Glaring towards the horde of undead in front of him, Thorik roared in anger and charged at them, Hammer raised.....

-1 Week into Battle-General Gelnwing (Plains of Antora)

It's been 4 days since Thorik fell to the undead. Me and Gairhime still have most of the army but we've fallen back to the plains. This is most unfortunate. Turning his head, Glenwing could see the dark cloud of destruction drawing ever closer. "Gairhime, we must devise a plan if we are to push them back to the gates they came from. Sighing, Glenwing spurred his horse onward to the tent of the Archmage. We must end this war soon, or we surely shall lose. A grim look upon his face, Glenwing spurred his horse to sprint faster...

-3 Weeks into Battle-General Gairhime (Stonewall Keep)

Come on men! Hold the gates! We end this now! Gairhime raised his sword into the air and recieved a large war cry from the remaining troops of the army. FOR THORIK, FOR GLENWING, FOR ANTORA! Girhaime dropped his sword arm and pointed at the undead army from atop the Keep wall. Suddenly Lighting split the sky and slammed into the centre of the horde. With a roar of thunder, lightning started to fall from the sky, striking the undead horde over and over. Open the gates! Chaaaaarrrggggeeee!!! With renewed vigor, the remains of the 3 Generals Army surged out of the keep to take on the remains of the horde. Leaning against the wall of the keep, Gairhime slipped down and sat in the muddy ground. Staring up into the sky he felt a raindrop hit his nose. We finally did Glenwing, Thorik. We defeated the horde and can finally rest. Closing his eyes for one final time, Gairhime plastered a smile on his face before finally letting out his final breath.

Continent of Antora-3rd Era-Month of The Harvest-
Town of Daret

The Old Innkeeper Gronk sat outside in the morning sun smoking his pipe. Putting away his book, he stood up and stretched. Walking back to the Rusty Bucket, he mumbled a good morning to some of the farmers heading out to work. After a few minutes of walking, he finally arrived at his home and work. Opening the door to the small group of regular customers he stood aside. Once in the Inn he started his usual routine of starting the fire, cleaning the tables and bar counters, and finally starting the breakfast for those who've spent the night.

-Here is the opening post, you can either be just coming across Daret and the Rusty Bucket or have spent the night before. Take what you will from the intro story and enjoy your adventures in Antora!

A loud crash followed by a grunt and a growl was signal that the Inn's most unusual patron was awake. Stomping down from her room a step at a time, her large Greataxe slung over her shoulder and her backpack neatly packed and resting over one shoulder, the half-orcess known in other parts as 'The Red Lady' but only as Myirh here was awake and angry as usual. She was Half orc Half human, but she had gotten the grace of her mother's looks. A beautiful face, small tusks that were only noticeable or pronounced if she was grinning. Her hair a lovely royal purple and shoulder length, messy and rough right now but usually well kept. Her emerald colored eyes held a calmness about them, like the kind before a great storm crashed through.

She did however keep a good portion of her father's genetics, her skin was green as any other orcs her build was toned though not well muscled like most orcs. Her strength wasn't questionable though, she was as tough as they came and many an unwary adversary had fallen underestimating her.

Finally at the bottom of the stairs she rubbed her free palm into her eyes and snarled. "Bloody rough night..." Myirh muttered before seating herself with a loud thump at the bar counter. Carefully she set her axe beside her and dropped her bag to the other side snapping her attention to the man behind the counter. "Booze me." She stated still looking sour and grumpy.

"Ahh, good morning Myirh." Gronk smiled as the angry half-orc woman sat down at the bar.

"Booze me."
Gronk let out a hearty laugh at this before grabbing a tankard from below the counter and filling it the brim with some good old-fashioned Ale. "So Myirh, what are your plans today? Not getting into another fight I hope." Gronk winked at Myirh as he set the tankard down in front of her.

Walking down stairs from his bed quarters, Reginald Lockmeister was ready to take on the world. Equipped with his shillelagh and dandy top hat, and with his good friend Colonel Kreed on his shoulder, and his fabulous moustache perfectly trimmed and proper, he was sure to make a name for himself once more.

Having just lost his entire estate to a divorce, Reginald needed to find a new means of income, and had decided to turn to the magic arts of wizardry. There is a huge kafuffle when people here of his talents – generally people confuse him as a necromancer as opposed to one who focuses in necromancy (there is indeed a big difference), but he can usually turn people’s thoughts around with his outgoing personality.

Adjusting his monocle (for what self-respecting wizard does not wear one), Reginald tipped his hat to the bar keep. “Good morning to you sir. I did not get to say much last night, being quite fatigued at the time. Perhaps I can more formerly introduce myself. I am Reginald Lockmeister, former entrepreneur and currently looking for employment. Perhaps you or someone you know is in need of a wizard? I presumed that finding work would be easier with magic users either being too expensive or too scarce, but it seem I’m in a bit of a sticky wicket as it t’wer.”

The old man looked up at the man calling himself Reginald, as well as a wizard. "Morning Reginald, anything you'd like for breakfast? As for work for your kind, none that I could tell you of. Daret is a quiet town, we don't got much use for magic round these parts."
With that, Gronk sat down behind the bar and pulled out his pipe, lit it, and then sat waiting for a response.

While all this was happening a couple of farmers came in and took a seat at one of the tables. They looked dirty, and tired, and were quietly whispering to each other.

Myirh growled and downed her drink in one go letting out a loud very unlady like belch. She set her tankard a little ways away deciding one drink would be good for now. "Good brew for such a small place." She muttered, one of her rare compliments outside of combat. "No guarentees on me fighting, they deserved it." She spat, last night was still a blur but she did recall a fond memory of knocking someone around for an off color remark about her heritage. She knew little of her parents, losing them was one just one of the trials that came with growing up in an arena.

Another thing she didn't like, was whispering. Any whispers she had learned were usually bad, in an arena bad usually entailed your number coming up or your 'retirement.' She spun around on her seat to face the whispering farmers. "OI! you lot speak up or keep it quiet. If its a politics keep it quiet, if you need something maimed or some muscle then speak up and ask." With her bellowing done for the time she turned back 'round and stretched feeling her arms pop audibly. A grunt and a growl she closed her eyes keeping an ear out for any other unwanted sounds.

She didn't pay the dapper chap any mind, he was an interesting fellow to say the least but she was very very wary of magic having had a few bad run ins with magical sorts. She preferred to keep them at a distance at best.

Istoran strolled in with a quiet chinging noise. He was dressed head to to in chainmail, which made moving quietly difficult. He also kept his shield and sword on, more for personal security then nessecity. He sat down at one of the tables. He looked around the inn, noticing the gentleman and the half orc. He wondered if they were here on business, or something else.

"OI!" the half Orcs voice boomed. Istoran leapt in his seat."You lot speak up or keep it quiet. If its a politics keep it quiet, if you need something maimed or some muscle then speak up and ask." Istoran stood up slowly and began to move towards them. He was definately intrested in a job, especially an combat one. He had yet to prove himself to his father, after all. He placed his hand on his longsword. He sure hoped a fight wouldn't erupt in such a place, but was ready if it did.

Myirh tensed up a bit, her outburst had startled one of the patrons and the man was approaching hand on sword hilt. "Stay your blade human if your part of the local guard I'll take my leave." She grunted to the man approaching the general vicinity. She hadn't seen the local guard, if there even was any, well enough to know their uniforms off by heart but she wasn't taking any chances. She was used to being kicked out of towns and taverns for her rowdiness. Her only minor regret for this eviction, would be not hearing what the roughed up looking farmers had to say if anything.

Istoran slowly lowered his hand, as the half orc siad toward him,"Stay your blade human if your part of the local guard I'll take my leave." He nodded toward her.

"My apologies if I have offended you, bu I've seen one too many of these icedents go sour." He smiled in what he hoped was a friendly way. "If there is a job though I would like to go. Would you allow me to come with you?" He bowed slightly. "I am Istoran, and I can hold my own with a blade."

Myirh grunted and gestured towards the farmers. "When they speak if its work fine, no sense rushing into something without something." She chuckled dryly, the man would either prove a good sword which she valued, strength and honor were big to her. Or he would make a good shield with his face, either way he would be allowed to join her. "Save the smiles and candied words for the wenchs human. I'd rather see you prove yourself with your steel then with your charm."

Istoran nodded. "Sounds good to me." he agreed' " I would be honoured to fight beside you. And I hope to prove that I'm better with steel, than words."

Gronk laughed quietly. "Now now Myirh, leave the poor farmers alone. And you young lad, Istoran was it? Would you like something to eat this fine morning? How about I cook all three of you some sausage and hashbrowns?" Gronk smiled at the trio in front of him.

Meanwhile the farmers had stopped whispering and were looking towards the half-orc who yelled at them with wide eyes. They then looked at the two humans beside her and stared back at eachother before lowering there heads.

-Adventuring starts soon! Just waiting for Philosopher and Jozan. Enjoying the posts so far -

Myirh grunted her answer. "Just the pig will do." She stated, she did like potatoes and her veggies and the like, but she preferred a healthy diet of mostly meats. She glanced back at the farmers, they had gone silent so she assumed politics but something about them was still off. Her eyebrow raised she made a 'come here' motion with her arm. "It isn't politics Im guessing but you louts are to scared to speak, well get your spine out of your ass and tell us whats troubling you. For one, farmers don't get as dirty as you two usually, and secondly, most farmers don't seem as highstrung. So Speak."

A young man wearing many pockets and studded leather came bustling in from the street and walks up to the bar. After he grabs a stool he waves at the innkeeper. "Good man, your advertising couldn't be better! Leave the door open, cook up some bacon, and the hungry will come," he swats a fly from the air that had a particular boldness about it's proximity to his face, "though letting in all the flies, you may want to work on that."

He smiles disengenuously to show he means no harm by the ribbing. "I would love some bacon. Ooh! And eggs if you've got them. A bit early for booze, but I'll take some utter sauce if that's handy. Could you fill up my skin for me too?" he takes his waterskin out of his backpack and hands it to the old man behind the counter. "Thank you kindly."

After running his fingers through his unkempt flaxen hair, pressing it back out of his face and curling it around his ears, he hunches in his stool, leans on the bar and looks towards the happenings between Myirh and the farmers. "Hmmm…" he mutters under his breath, "I wonder…"

Istoran stepped back. He decided that if the farmers did have anything to say, they probaly would talk to Myirh. If not... well he was close enough to hopefully break up any brawls. He notice a new patron enter the tavern. The new patron was clad in studded armour, so perhaps he was an adventurer too? Istoran strolled over there. "Good morning sir," Istoran said. "I am Istoran. And you are?"