“Typical, a dwarf scholar seeks some lost kaer that holds untold treasure. Yet all the dwarf has to its location is a footnote is some ‘other’ dwarf’s journal.”
—Captain Kaegan of the Icefalcon
The adventuring band known as’ The Last Circle’ had disbanded. Fear and petty squabbles eroded at group’s cohesiveness; as each companion fell so did the threads that bound them together. Dakuwan’s death severed the final thread. The surviving members parted ways to pursue their own goals. Remy had left the group first, the draw of treasure being much stronger than his ties to the group. Rok headed north for Dwegarheim, looking for the ex-blood Warder Takarsis. Netherwind traveled to Bartertown seeking the nethermancer Illyanna. Galea traveled towards Jerris, drawn by a legend she found in a book. Thovar and Tianna headed towards Urupa for reasons only a dwarf could fathom. Braxis traveled to Travar to compete in a tournament. And Klaz disappeared into the Servos, looking for a trail he did not know if it still existed. Some left on amiable terms, others left in heated passion, and others simply slipped off in the dark. A year has passed since the troupe braved the wilds of Barsaive together. Their memories of each other fading into the recesses of their minds. The companions that they once fought beside were flickering memories of a dying candle. But threads that bind us together are not easily cut, and Fate pulls those strings once again.
The road to Kear Korinth is not an easy one. Nestled in the mountains, the road is an uphill battle only a dwarf would see the practicality in. For a day and a half the uphill trek has exhausted Remy to the point that his muscles quiver with each step. Any force attacking the town would be defeated before they even made it to his destination, a the kaer Korinth. An unexplored kaer that holds the wealth of a long dead nation. Remy heard that a small village has sprung up around the entrance and there has been much talk about the village in the northern hinterlands. The pain in Remy’s legs snaps his attention back to the task at hand. While this arduous trail may protect Korinth from bandits and scorchers, Remy could see why merchants avoided it also. Remy eyes the cart, but thinks better of it. If Darron catches him stowing away on the cart again, he will probably leave him behind. The hinterlands is no place to be alone. Another hour of trudging up the path leads to a plateau and rest. Remy catches his first glance of Kear Korinth. The Fifteen foot walls crafted from clean granite stones stand in staunch defense of the small town. The stones are fitted together to appear seamless. Atop the walls stand Kahrne Silveraxe’s men, deserters of the Throalic army. Among them are dwarves in green robes wearing strange bronze breastplates and stranger bronze helmets. Every fifth dwarf is clad in similar attire with a full face helm that consists of a mask bearing a dwarven visage. Perhaps the dwarves’ envisioning of Thystonius, but Remy has never heard of such a practice.
As he approaches the main gate, a band of dwarven guards inspect those coming into Korinth before informing them to report to the tax office inside the Gate Quarter. The Gate Quarter buzzes with activity and Remy sees that the Gate Quarter is as packed as any bazaar in Bartertown, brightly colored stalls entice Name-givers into buying their wares. Darron, caught up in the moment, starts setting up his stall before being reminded by a dwarf guard that he must first register at the tax office. Deciding the line for the tax office was too long, Remmy scans the throng of people in the Gate Quarter for a possible mark. He almost decides on a particularly unpleasant human merchant when he notices a face; a face that he has not seen in over a year.
Categorised as: General