The most important horse race of the year is fast approaching, thousands are expected to attend. Too bad that the horse favored to win has gone missing…
A town with rather strange inhabitants is in need and offers a moral decision for the party…
There is an assassin on the loose and nobody knows where he will strike next. Two seemingly nonassociated merchants got the knife in the back of the neck, and that was just the week ago. Rumors have it that some guilds are cleaning house and there are numerous other contracts pending. A large scale guild war seems inevitable.
War is brewing over the new fertile lands next to the Otane River. Trade has ceased and conflict is thick in the air. Contacts must be kept and messages must still be sent to allies in each of the cities. Spies are untrustworthy and the loyal ones cannot be spared. The need for those competent and smart enough to deliver state secrets is desperately needed.
Every five years the wandering nomads of the land have a large gathering bringing them together from all over. Unfortunately a town has sprung up on top of their gathering place. Live in peace and deal with each other or will the overlapping of two entirely different cultures clash in a bad way?
They awaken with the tilt of a ship on the open sea. Any glimpses they see of the water is an endless expanse of blue. They are chained at their wrists and ankles with the chain going through an eye hook in the floorboard and then connecting them to their bench mate. A stowed oar is resting in front of them ready to be deployed. Life as a galley slave can be hard.
An outlying village is actively searching the nearby city for mercenaries to help them protect their village.
Armed city guards came into the tavern quickly, and efficiently blocked all the exits. He announces to the chosen that they have just been inducted into the city guard and are hereby ordered to serve their city.
The PCs are setting up camp at the end of their first day of walking through the Esh-Inel Mountains, when they hear in the distance a low rumbling, like thunder. It grows progressively louder until it echoes off the mountainous bowls around them, then dies away again. At its worst the ground starts trembling. It happens every day at this time, and it is the noise of the Great Carts on the dwarfish underways returning home after a day mining, laden with many tons of ore.