The Summer Armada Lies in Ruins. Too many politicians with too many conflicting agendas have turned the Empire to a stagnant ruin. Without the meditating hand of the King. The Armada is doomed to fall into a collection of warring Island states.
Several prominent factions include the Hearthtemple, the order of Priests worshiping the god of fire. The supreme god of the Summer Armada.
The Fleets, 5 factions that sprang up from the broken Armada’s naval battle groups. They are Seadrakes, the Western Fleet, The Firehearts, the northern fleet, the Order of the Just, the eastern fleet, the Homeguard, the Central fleet, and Finally the secretive and little seen Southguard, the southern fleet that operates primarily outside of Armada controlled waters. Charged with their duty of keeping the horrors of the south a secret from the Armada as a whole by the last King.
Smaller factions exist as well, including those venerating the Minor gods, Such as the Sea God. Or those who ply the waters in trade. It is a dangerous time to sail the seas. And if things don’t soon improve, the People of the Southern Isles very way of life will be at risk.
One man Understands this and will do anything to stop it. He wishes to return the King to his throne, and usher in a New Renaissance for the Armada. Especially now that the Legion has risen again to the North. This task will not be an easy undertaking, but it will be necessary. Even with his incredible influence and power it will not be an easy endeavor, and he’ll need an excellent crew.
Emberhold, Jewel of the south Capital of the Summer Armada, and pride of many. The once most beautiful city in the world, with its sapphire Canals, and sweeping views of the open waters beyond, situated a good distance away from the other islands, to ensure excellent line of sight in any direction. Although once just a small keep and attendant village the mass of humanity swiftly took over the entire island. The Keep Swelled to become a Palace, with high walls and carefully calculated room to allow those in the city to shelter within, although not comfortably. The Village grew into a great city, the envy of the world, with many green spaces perfectly preserved in parks, and theatres that made some castles seem insignificant by comparison. However, decades without proper leadership had clearly taken its toll, only the Naval Port of the Homeguard, and the Grandiose Hearthtemple seemed untouched. Elsewhere what were once grand avenues, now contained more potholes than road. The Canals seemed stained a murky brown, and we’re clogged with debris, and the occasional corpse. The entire city seemed like a Sick and Dying entity. Any who had seen it’s glory days would surely be remiss to look on it now. For one reason or another, none of this stopped you from coming.
You are Privateers working for the different Dukes and Duchesses of the Southern Isles. Each of you received a letter, asking you to come listen to a job offer that’d pay in more than simple wealth.
The letter reads thus.
Great or little renown
Pay: 1.5x standard, plus bonus
Location: The Drunken Mule Inn, parlour #3
Don’t be late, lunch provided”
The Drunken Mule is a decrepit old ruin of a building, the only thing of wonder about it is how it’s still standing. Sitting almost crammed into a Gap between one wall of the Hearthtemple, and a Business offering Insurance for Seafaring vessels, it seems to skulk in the shade of the two grander buildings. Inside is no better, stałe old drunks that look like they haven’t moved in a week, and smell the same. They all seem to have been nursing the same mug of ale for quite some time.
If one looked closely, they’d swear there was a coat of dust on even the patrons. Although given their level of grooming, any witness would be forgiven for not noticing.
The Barkeep is a miserable old sod, who glares at the door every time it opens. As if to challenge anyone who might wish to bring business or prosperity to his establishment.
In short, it was a dump, and was probably a dump in its glory days. That’s what they say about it anyway.
Beside the door is a pile of crumpled up letters, the only thing about the place that looks new in any way. The door swings open with a light push, almost disturbing the thick dust carpet that coats the floor.
The Bartender has a look of barely disguised shock to see so many people enter his establishment at once, or at all for that matter. He claps his hands together, almost missing due to unfamiliarity with the gesture. The sound startles some semblance of life into the Patrons. His voice is raspy as if he hadn’t spoken in some time. Although harsh there are undertones of a much warmer tone in there, in his eye is the barest glint of the smile the lines on his face suggest used to he common.
“Well now, what can I do for you fine folk?”
(@Ghid @MakutaOisli @Winger @N01InParticular @Atobe_Brick )