To save a Kingdom

[Ixidor92]

Baphomet, one of the greatest generals of hell. He came to this world, intent on engaging in battle and conquering all. The nation of Islen was the first to stand in his way. A nation full of adventurers and open to all the races. No one is turned away as long as they follow the (fairly loose) laws that stop adventurers from marauding around. The strongest, most experienced, and bravest adventurers were called upon to push back this threat. At great cost, he was banished back to the nine hells, but the portal could not be closed. A magical barrier was put in front of it, but Baphomet merely laughed. He enjoyed the fight, and swore he would return with his army: in one year's time. The nation was thrown into panic at this announcement. Nearly all of the adventurers who had protected them were now either injured beyond the means of any healing, or dead. The king has now called forth all adventurers who remain in the realm on a mission to protect their home and hub. They are to be sent out in groups to seek any help that might protect the nation. Any nations that will help. Any group that is willing to send aid. Any powerful artifacts that might be of use. Any wandering adventurers with great strength whom might be convinced to assist. Of course, in so doing, the adventurers will become more powerful, which is part of the king's intent.


You have one year until doomsday . . .

 

[Ixidor92]

The great city of Aoen was abuzz with gossip and barely controlled panic. Not more than two weeks ago the devil lord Baphomet had been pushed back from the material plane and made his promise. But some measure of hope was being spread as well, for Lord Ynadon had called a summit at the castle, announced a single day after the sealing of Baphomet. A call had been sent to all available adventurers to come to the castle and provide aid to the fine nation of Islen, which was to come under assault in one year's time. The castle stood five stories tall, with banners holding the king's seal mounted on each corner. A man garbed in simple clothing, his arms outstretched, one hand with a shining sun, and the other with a black moon. Adventurers had been coming into the castle all day, and it was nearly high-noon when the summit was to meet. The gathering hall was on the second floor, and could easily house 200 people. There were many, many adventurers there. Many of them were their by themselves, but a few had come as groups, or were even there representing groups that weren't there in full. Never was a more eclectic band seen in all the lands. Humans and half-orcs, dwarves and elves, halflings and goliaths, thri-keen and xeph. If ever a force was to stand against the nine layers of hell. It would be this.

 

[Twizinator]

Ryrax sat on a bench against the wall, away from the crowd of adventurers consorting with each other. In the crook of his left arm he cradled his oar, Haros. His hooded cloak concealed his features, but his crimson eyes gleamed as he coolly examined every man and woman in the gathering hall. None of them were the man he was hunting, but for once, that was not why he was here. Even a tiefling - even Ryrax - could not ignore a call to defend the realm from Baphomet. Protecting the weak from evil was precisely what his dead order had stood for, after all.

 

[MrKnucklebones]

Azrin walked into the gathering hall with determined strides, the hood of his white cloak down and his long golden hair falling down around around his shoulders. he smiled and nodded at a few of the adventurers in the room that he knew. Some were friends and some were merely acquaintances or merely people he knew by sight. He chuckled to himself knowing what his old master would have said about such a gathering.