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Up until four centuries or so ago, the Moon Hills and the surrounding Nentir Vale were thinly settled borderlands, home to quarrelsome human hill-chieftains and remote realms of nonhumans such as dwarves and elves. Giants, minotaurs, orcs, ogres, and goblins plagued the area. Ruins such as those on the Gray Downs or the ring-forts atop the Old Hills date back to these days, as do stories of the hero Vendar and the dragon of the Nentir.

With the rise of the empire of Nerath to the south, human settlers began to move up the Nentir, establishing towns such as Fastormel, Harkenwold, and Winterhaven. A Nerathan hero named Aranda Markelhay obtained a charter to build a keep at the portage of the Nentir Falls. She raised a simple tower at the site of Moonstone Keep three hundred ten years ago, and under its protection the town of Fallcrest began to grow.

Over the next two centuries, Fallcrest grew into a small and prosperous city. It was a natural crossroads for trade, and the Markelhays ruled it well. When the empire of Nerath began to crumble about a century ago, Fallcrest continued to flourish—for a time. Ninety years ago, a fierce horde of orcs known as the Bloodspears descended from the Stonemarch and swept over the vale. Fallcrest’s army was defeated in a rash attempt to halt the Bloodspears out on Gardbury Downs. The Bloodspears burned and pillaged Fallcrest and went on to wreak havoc all across the Nentir Vale.

In the decades since the Bloodspear War, Fallcrest has struggled to reestablish itself. The town is a shadow of the former city; little trade passes up and down the river these days. The countryside for scores of miles around is dotted with abandoned homesteads and manors from the days of Nerath. Once again the Nentir Vale is a thinly settled borderland where few folk live. This is a place in need of a few heroes.


Lord Berrian Martell, an eladrin of noble descent, recently returned to Fallcrest to resettle the once abandoned Martell estate located in the Moon Hills a mile or two south of the town. He seeks an audience with Lord Markelhay in order to re-establish his title hold on the once held Martell lands.

Elred Dander, a well-known and liked guard of the city watch, was chosen from amongst his peers to report directly to Lord Markelhay for a special assignment.

Daeros Icarus, once a struggling street urchin, but now an apprentice to the powerful Nimozaran the Green, was summoned to the Septarch’s Tower from his nearby home in the early morning.

Irimannar and Valora Auryon of the Woodsinger clan from the Harkenwold Forest, several miles south of the Moon Hills, were hired by the Lord Markelhay of Fallcrest to scout out the recent bandit attacks in the area. They had just entered the town of Fallcrest with the knowledge that kobolds were the culprits of the recent raids on caravans passing through the area. The destination of the two elven rangers was Moonstone Keep, a shattered remnant of a once great castle that served as Lord Markelhay's center of power.

((Time to rp.))

(( Nice description, Azure!

I wish I had a little more to go on, like where my character is at this particular moment in time, but I can wing it.

Oh, and PLEASE tell me you're using the Kobold Victory chart. It's just too awesome.

Incoming short-story length wall of text. It doesn't always come out in my quick Gaioh posts, but I dabble in creative writing more than a little bit. Heck, if I had any respect for English professors, and if an Engineering student had enough time for that many electives, I would have minored in it. ))

A young eladrin rode up to the gate of the old ruined castle. The Moonstone Keep, it was called, if his memory served. In spite of his nobility, he was garbed plainly, as would befit an ordinary traveler, in sturdy leather boots, and a coat and leggings of thick hides. His face was covered in the dust of the roads, no thanks to the bandits that had stolen his dashing feathered hat, and his favorite shadowcat skin cloak. It had been his own foolishness, ultimately. They had seen a young lordling, alone, with no less than TWO thoroughbred horses--one to ride, and one to carry his lordly finery--and if the brash young nobleman was carrying a sword, well, that was something most brash young noblemen did. Most of them didn't know how to use it, and even if he was one of those that did, well, there were five bandits and only one lordling.

Unfortunately for the bandits, Lord Berrian Martell was quite skilled with his blade. The youngest son of a youngest son, it had been his duty to train as a Knight, and his formal training in the arts of war had been as extensive as it was practical. Lacking a proper lance, he dismounted, killed two of the highwaymen, but when he turned to do in a third, he'd found both his horses gone, and with them, both the other bandits and what riches he'd possessed. All he had left was his sword, the clothes on his back, and his signet ring.

He'd taken the arms, the armor, and the mounts of his slain attackers to the nearest town. He kept a few javelins, a buckler, some armor of tanned hides, and one of the mounts, a gelded palfrey of mediocre speed and endurance. The rest, he sold, and he used the proceedings to buy what provisions as had gotten him to the gates of Moonstone Keep. Of course, his signet ring was a priceless thing--platinum alloyed with sapphire, forged with the magics of the Feywild by a Cleric-Artisan of Corellon--and as at least one merchant had pointed out, if Berrian sold it, he could afford to travel to Fallcrest in the most decadent luxury possible, and hire enough men-at-arms to see himself there safely as well. But to Berrian, the ring was just that: priceless. It was proof of who he was, and he'd sooner die than so much as let it out of his sight.

But we were speaking of Moonstone Keep, were we not?

The young eladrin nobleman rode up to the gates and dismounted. With his hand he shielded his eyes from the sun's glare as he looked up to the battlements for a guard or a lookout.

A crossbowman in a shirt of mail noticed him first, and called down. "Who goes there?"

"I am Lord Berrian of House Martell," he called back, using his Battlefield Voice. He was a Knight, not a singer, but voice training had nonetheless been among his first lessons. If your troops couldn't hear you over the din of fighting, you couldn't command them. "The roads have been perilous," he continued, "and I am weary from my travels. I seek an audience with the Lord of Markelhay, and well as shelter beneath his roof."

((Note: Nimozaran's "home" is the Septarch's Tower, you are being called into his presence once more.))

To everyone else: I will wait until I get posts from everyone before continuing. However, if more than a day or so passes from whenever I last post, I will probably continue on.

Elred strode through the streets of Fallcrest with a casual gait, the massive glaive he carried resting easily on his shoulder. It wasn't every day that a guard of his rank was called to report directly to the boss himself, but middle children learn not to look a gift horse in the mouth, if indeed it was a gift. Of course, he hadn't done anything wrong that he could recall... still, it was better to look at things from a positive perspective, he figured.

Elred greeted people along the way to the manor of the man who claimed Fallcrest as his domain. He knew a lot of people in this town. Working as a guard brought him in contact with people pretty regularly, and they seemed to generally like him.

He made his way up to the front door of Lord Markelhay, standing at attention in front of the guards in charge of the manor. "Elred Dander reporting for an audience with Lord Markelhay."

"Why would you choose someone like me for this?"

Daeros gave the sorcerer an intrigued gaze. According to most people, he hadn't even began to learn what was possible, for a wizard of his race, to learn. Hell, up until the prior day, Daeros was a street urchin making his living as a con-artist.

"Also, what do I get out of this if I help you?"

Daeros poked around the man's request. If this man expected him to stop some "big threat", Daeros would need a true incentive to take the job.

The Lord Warden nodded his head at the news.

"It just so happens that I am in the process of gathering together such a party.... In fact, both of you will be joining them."

He waved the two elves away.

"See to it that you are properly prepared to set out by tomorrow. I will call on you when the time comes."

The next to be called in was Elred Dander.


Nimozaran tapped his finger against the solid bindings of the tome in his lap.

“Call it repayment for taking you in and accepting you in training.”

"Ah, splendid."

Lord Markelhay said as he leaned forward in his chair.

"Step forward, I have a task for you... As you are no doubt aware there has been an increase in bandit attacks lately. I have it on good authority that kobolds are to blame."

He stood up in what he hoped to be a regale manner.

"I have heard good things from your captain. As such I could think of very few others who would be suitable for handling this task."

He clapped his hands together and a finely dressed man walked over to Eldred and handed the guard a scrolled parchment, emblazoned with the sigil of the Markelhay household.

"I am assembling a party to clear out Kobold Hall and make the surrounding lands safe for our people. You will go as my representative and will be well compensated for your troubles. Say... ten gold pieces for every kobold slain and a hundred for their leader."

He waved the warrior off.

"Now make ready to leave by tomorrow, you will meet your traveling companions later."

The next visitor to the Lord Warden was a displaced Lord Berrian Martell.

Berrian hadn't much minded the wait. It had given him time to rest a bit, wash, and make himself as presentable as his clothing permitted. Oh, how he rued not taking up wizardry: the first spell taught to apprentices was Prestidigitation, a minor cantrip that performed all manner of useful chores, all the way down to washing away the dust and dirt of one's travels in a way that a day's struggle with boiling water, pumice, and lye couldn't match.

Nevertheless, it would have to do. Surely, the Lord of Markelhay knew of the dangers near his own realm.

Berrian bowed deeply. House Martell was far older and more powerful a noble house than Markelhay--when House Markelhay had been founded three hundred years past, Berrian's grandfather had been Head of House Martell, and still was--but Berrian himself was only a minor lordling--a branch of a branch--and a guest of Lord Markelhay's hospitality besides. Custom gave Faren the greater position.

"My Lord of Markelhay, I come to you with a proposition. A keep lies not two miles south of here upon the Moon Hills. The keep and its associated lands and income have long been in the care of House Martell. Less than a century past, however, it was lost to us. Even once the threat of the Bloodspear had passed, it was never reclaimed. It is my desire, at long last, to do so.

"I seek an alliance, of sorts. The same rain that brings a farmer a bountiful harvest brings his neighbor the same. Anything I do to improve the lands by the Moon Hills improves your own lands as well. Increased safety, increased population, increased trade... they would benefit the area for leagues in every direction. Any assistance I can offer you would only improve my own lot. And as for what assistance that would be..." Berrian touched the hilt of his sword. "I have been formally trained as a Knight Captain. Little enough to begin with, sure, but it was House Martell's caution and prudence that led us to survive the fall of Nerath. In time, and with some initial successes, perhaps I can show my Family the value of making Nentir Vale a center of trade and culture once more."