Prologue: Old Friends, Newly Forgotten
We open on The One Eyed Troll, a tavern deep in the Low Docks. It is famed for its Balorean Whisky and Dark Ales.
It is busy tonight, and a just a little bit crazy, which is not surprising since it is after all, the full moon. It is a little under a month till Godrise, the time of the year when magic runs just beneath the fabric of the world, and the high mages of Guildhall gather to recast their runes and wards for he next year.
Every race has its own story of creation, but one thread runs true throughout. When the Gods battled the Primordials at the time before time, the battle was fierce, bloody and nearly lost. Ever since that battle, the Gods are quiet for the Dark Weeks, until magic is reborn at GodRise.
Whether true or not, and despite the fact that few would contest that the Gods even knew that The Low Docks existed, even here things get crazier during the Dark Weeks.
Tonight, the One Eyed Troll is offering a special, and it is a popular one. It is called Two Orks and a Cup, a strange dark conconction that is definately better taken while holding your nose and keeping your eyes tightly shut.
Across the tavern there is a group of Shifters playing with a rat, and there is a group of hungry looking ten-year olds plying their trade by the door until they are shoo’d away by the tavernkeeper, a Half-Orc named Calob.
You nurse your drinks, overly aware of the staleness in the air, the almost wild wish for self-annihilation that you can feel behind the hard eyes of most of the others in the room.
Its just another night at the One Eyed Troll…until an Angel steps through the door. In some inns, that would be considered a miracle. In the Low Docks, for a Deva, it is a death sentence.
And thus…our adventure begins…