An organization whos guild hall has been around more more then 1500 years. Here is where Rangers skills are tested to their limits…
The Sea is My Home, and Like All Homes I Will Defend it to My Dying Breath -Benedicte De La Courcel
A pen? Yes, a pen. It has long been a treasured item for forgers who would like to have their hands on it…
A Nose Ring? Yep, a nose ring. The ancient symbol of power of the trolls and said to have magical abilities….
There Is No Evil; There Is No Good; There Is Only Power- Kellen Tavador
Isssss It Wrong To Dissscriminate Usssss?- Eragor Erunk
Do not become the beast you hunt…
Abasil, home of the Wood Elves
Cold to the core, he is a rather young drow who has no friends and is very quiet and keeps to himself
“Made on a small island in the Black Sea, it has the power to make a person invinsible in magical concerns, but people should be warned, it has never brought luck to it’s wielders.” Conan Highblade, High Seer of Abasil
A Magical Stone, look into it and see what you need to, but beware…
The Kite Shield of Caladin, passed down to son from father in the Whitewing Family…
The Sword of Anawaith, named where it resides in the Ranger Guild of Anawaith…
Caladin, a country where people hate magic, where the sword is the most reliable weapon and where war and death not a uncommon word
Sir Whitewing, a typical knight, loyal to his lord to his death and couragous as all get out. Currently leading an army of 10,000 soldiers east to battle the swamp ogres that threaten the borders. Charismatic and rash, he will charge recklessly into battle for his friends, without heed for his life. Smart and out-going he isn’t what most noble’s sons would be.
The Haven Fortress, the name suggests protection and vacation, but it is far more then that…
The Sentinel has always wondered who he was, his past covered in lies and deception, he wishes to seek the truth. But sometimes the truth is hard to take….
A legendary ranger from the North, all fear or admire, hate or love, but both have respect for him. He has no home nor hideout, a traveler always. His age is undetermined or his name, but he is called Sentinel, silent and deadly always. He is cunning and pragmatic, in quests he is an excellant tracker and has deadly accurcy with his bow. A master of the sword.
It seemed like a great place to camp. The clearing was good sized and sheltered from the wind. The brook just a few feet away. There is a natural hallow to keep the horses.
Then the night came.
It was like it became a different place. The temperature dropped. The wind, which does not seem to disturb cloth, almost cuts through you like an arctic wind. No one can sleep, as the soft ground has turned hard. The horses are uneasy. The Bats are flying over and stopping in the trees.
And then there is the eyes. There are glowing eyes just inside the tree line watching your group. The mages and clerics can detect nothing, but there is still something there.
(yet there is nothing at all... The Darkness will do nothing unless the players do something to it. And even then it will all seem to be a conincidence.)
Of course, in the morning, it all becomes sweet and light.