The Calling . . .

On a bright white day.

The small city of Dagmalg is situated at the mouth of the swift flowing Alvod River on a peninsula known as the Frost Lands. Famous for its fur trade and snow, the small city has found a place on some of the more detailed maps of the area. The town is laid out in the pattern of an old Scandinavian-type city, with around 50 buildings made out of stone, wood, or wattle and daub (that is sh*t & mud frozen together in this case). The entire city is surrounded by a sturdy wooden wall which is 20 feet tall. It has a water gate to the southwest for ships to enter and a land gate leading northeast into the forest. Most of the newer inhabitants and guests would have come through this gate. Of course, we will get to that later.

In the center of the city is a large market where all manner of equipment, jewelry, and clothing can be found. The streets of this market are wooden plank walkways, and carts, wagons, and horses are prohibited from entering the market area. Coins, rough nuggets of precious metal, and bartering are common means of exchange in Dagmalg's market.

The buildings are worn and darkened by the eternal winter wind's erosion. The cold bites through the buildings and chills the hearts of those nearest the public house fires.

Why Dagmalg is a city and not a town is important to understand. For it is this little identity which has brought most of the cold strangers to these parts. You see, only an urban area with a high bishopric may be called a city. This means that no matter how great the population of a place, if it was not blessed by the gods of Oreth-Se, it can only aspire to be a town. Needless to say, Dagmalg has a bishopric. In the age of the fang, Dagmalg was the location where the god Odin had his eye buried. Since mortals have walled the lands, Darmauk has had a small but continuous reign of bishops.

Eternal, that is, until three winters past. Giants and Humanoids of the most gruesome form, broke into the temple of the eye and slaughtered the small regiment of priests. Two cold months ago, The Darmauk of Calin, the northern Markdom of Oreth-Se, sent an army of prize soldiers and cheap adventurers to brave the cold and reestablish the bishopric. Before the army had reached the city, however, it was ambushed by frost giants. The new bishop, the Darmauk's chief lieutenant, and most of his knights were all slain. A few made it through the walls of Dagmalg where now they huddle within the wooden walls and fear the Fates' spinning wheel.

Dev twitched a little in his cold wooden chair. How the heck had he ended up here? One more cheap ride from a merchant to a new town. Now he was countless frozen leagues from his old home. Happy to be distant from bitter memories, he also felt a pang of regret. Was he really the same soul who practiced jousting with Tal and Marin on Lord Forin's hidden fief? Were these the same hands that crafted play long bows from fresh Gilbret Willow trees? These gnarled and bruised hands, warped into a ghastly posture, ready to hook a shield and draw a blade at a moment's notice.

Dev sipped slowly his mead. It wasn't that he was nervous. It was out of a self preserving habit that his blade arm twitched naturally for metal. And it was that motion witch awoke him to the cold as the door to the lightly lit pub broke open.

"I am Larl Boscine, but you may call me Bolt."

The stranger at the door addressed the entire public house with a rich and loud voice. As he closed the door behind him, he continued, "I have news from the Darmauk of Calin. I know of a personal letter sealed by the Darmauk and delivered to the magistrate of Dagmalg. His eminent lordship has offered a prize of the richest gold for any group responsible for ending the evil of the frost men and preparing the temple here for its new bishop. I am seeking brave adventurers ready to leave these skeletal walls and end once and for all the demonic evil that cloaks this little city. Who will go with me?"

Dev felt an urge to laugh. He only slightly fought it off. Was this guy nuts? What a brave and stupid little boy. He must be a paladin! Gnarly Paladins! Dev's amusement was interrupted by another loud speaker within the pub.

"I am Phth Lart. Perhaps ugly in your eyes. I find you all repugnant and grotesque yourselves. Still, I was hired by knights of the Darmauk and I would rather die today out fighting in that frozen wilderness than to sit here and wait for the cold hand of hell to reach out and grab me." Dev looked at the large creature speaking. He did seem to be humanoid, perhaps even partially human. He was large and very muscular. His face, however, was nearly obscene. It sloped into a large snout. The creature seemed most definitely to have some gnollish blood in it. The creature continued, "I will go with you swordsman. I noticed on the journey north that you had the lieutenant's ear. You may not be a soldier but I am sure that you can get us the Darmauk's prize."

Swordsman? Hmm, well still a gnarly paladin at heart no doubt. Were all of the lost souls in this pub members of the doomed party to free the bishopric? Dev felt a little more alone than usual. Dev's thoughts were again interrupted. This time by a tall, bit too-thin, halfling. Throughout all of Dev's wanderings through Oreth-Se and its eastern twin continent Oreth, he had never seen such a thin halfling. "I am Anterback. I would love a chance to get out of this wooden freezer. I have a sword and through the support of my lord Chislev, I have the ability to heal those of us who may tangle with a blade or sharp claw."

Suddenly it was that large monster again, "I will fight with you swordsman. I will give you my blade. But I do not think I can stomach to have a smelly halfling in my presence. The things are bad luck. We would be better to eat it now so as to give us what protien we can from the scrawny thing before we set out."

"You shall eat me shall you?" The halfling taunted. He seemed a little incensed. Dev figured that being offered up as the evening meal was probably as good a reason as any to get up set. Again he failed in his attempt to hold back a laugh.

"Halfling! Let us not losen our powers on potential alies" Now this was the voice of a gnome who was sitting with the little fellow. He grabbed his arm and seemed to know right where the little guy would keep his blade. Addressing the crowd in general, he continued "My friends, I am the gnome Florimund Firozhan, son of the last Firozhan hero and, no doubt, heir to its grandeur. I have traveled with Anterback for sometime now. We are friends and I can tell you that since the day that I first saw him, I have known him to be one of the bravest souls in the widest gaze of Fharlanghn. I feel that it is good for us to complete this adventure. While, I disagree with you that staying here is so awful, I believe that defending this city is equally important and were it not for the importance of my return to Gwendle Hei for my family's 197th centenial, I would volunteer for the important task of guarding the magistrate and these simple buildings. Still, I agree, we need to go forth. I offer my services as an Illusionist to assist in this venture."

Dev was unsure if he had ever heard such a long winded little vagrant. Still, the little guys were kind of humourous to watch. He again failed to hold back a laugh. "Then we have a party. I will accept both you fighter", he said in an obvious attempt to show greater respect for the racist monster of a man, "and you little ones to come with me into the frozen land. Consider yourselves called to this great undertaking..." Bolt paused, "If I am to be a leader of sorts, I need to introduce you to my companion who travels wherever I go. His name is Par, Crie Xan Par. He is an able fighter with a quarter staff. Trust that he will not leave us in the midst of danger. As the swordsman spoke, a tall creature stood up in the back of the room. Hooded, it was difficult to really make out much of his face. He seemed dark. He made no word or gesture. When the swordsman finished addressing him, he sat back down.

"I have also found another young fighter who wishes to join us. He is putting on his snake skins. What ever that means? He says he will join us latter. He doesn't carry a blade, but I have arm wresstled the man and will vouch for his strength. "

Well, that was it. A party of wimps and stupid paladin wanna bees. Dev doubted he had ever seen a group in such need of everything. Two rather gimpy short folk, a giant racist gnoll, a giant mystery, a fighter who didn't use a sword, and all led by a goody two shoes swordsman. That was enough! "Ok," Dev heard himself saying, "if you buy the ale, swordsman, I will follow!"