So, you want to hear my story do yah? Well, I’m not going anywhere and it looks like you aren’t about to anytime soon as well so lets get on with it shall we? I… am a mystery. Even I do not know my true self, but I do know where I’ve been. I grew up in the south with my brother, the elder by two years, and what I assumed to be my father. It wasn’t until later that I found out that this man pretending to be my father was actually an evil Wizard, only seeking to further his work through my brother and I. He goes by the name of Dakin Wraith. When I was but a babe Dakin stole my brother and I from our cribs, took us to his fortress and biding his time, waiting for the day he could begin teaching us his ways. Looking back now, Drakin never actually called us by a name. He often called me boy or just simple shouted in my direction with a gruff “You there!” Anyways on with the story. When I was 8 he began teaching me the ways of the Wizard, all the while studying me, measuring me. Always watching, seeing if I was good enough to become the successor of his secrets. Alas it was not to be because as he was watching me, he was also watching my brother twice over. Everything seemed to flow with my brother. He would blast through spells that would take me months to master. Drakin noticed this progress and started devoting more and more time to his studies… his spells… always giving him private lessons. Eventually it was time for Drakin to decide which boy was to be his full time apprentice, and the choice for him was clear. I was 13 years old…

It was early fall morning, the crisp air sharp and cool as I took a deep breath, trying to clear the sleep from my mind. The sun was just rising above the mountains to the east. A road, three men wide, wound down from the manors gate and down, only to disappear into a grove of trees nestled in the valley below. Heavy footsteps came from behind me and soon a large, dark figure brushed past me onto to the road ahead. The figure grunted as he headed down the path, “Cmon boy, best not keep the morning waiting.” We were heading out for a lesson, something we rarely did as we were usually confined to the manor. I quickly rubbed my eyes one last time with the palms of my hands and hurried after the man. This was Drakin. In another life we would be considered a large man, but decades of being bent over scrolls and parchment has turned him into a lanky old man. He has black shoulder length hair and a roughly trimmed beard, both have white smears developing randomly like old battle wounds that never healed properly. He wore a long leather traveler’s cloak and carried his long black staff, made of a special wood and strange marking spiraling along the length of it. We did not talk as we walked, we never do. We walked down the road till the sun was fully above the hills, then headed west through the forrest until we came to a small clearing with a cliff on one end and a small stream running along the base of it. Drakin walked across the clearing and sat next to the stream on a large rock. I walked across and sat next to him and watched the stream bubble past us, waiting for him to speak. A few minutes passed until he finally spoke up. “Do you know why you’re here boy?” he said suddenly.
“You told me you were giving me a lesson,” I replied.
“No… I mean here, with me, in this valley”
I became confused at this point, not sure what to say I answered “because you’re my father?”
“Huh,” he grunted with a hint of amusement, “ I am not who you think I am. When you were a child I stole both you and your brother from your own house, while your parents were sleeping and took you to my manor. I only needed one of you, to continue my work, and now the choice is clear who I need to follow me… and it isn’t you.”
“But… but why are you telling me this?” I stammered, more confused than ever.
“Because boy, I have no need for you anymore. This is it, you are no longer in my care and I cant have you running around the world telling folk about me and my work.” As he said this he slowly stood up and looked me in the eye without a hint of emotion. My eyes widened in shock as realized what this meant. Suddenly he jabbed the end of his staff into my chest and shouted a spell. With a flash I was thrown backwards and stars filled my eyes from the pain. In seconds my vision went black. I don’t remember much after that, I would slowly drift in and out of consciousness sometimes it way bright, others it would be dark out. The few moments that I was awake I managed to crawl to the stream and drink some of the fresh mountain water only to slip out of the waking world moments later.

You were all a part of a mercenary’s guild, and are great friends that have worked together for many years. That guild is no more as the result of another guild coming out of nowhere and somehow getting every contract in the city. They eventually got your grizzled old guild master fined for taking an illegal contract that was planted in his office, and the operation was shut down. That was Three-and-a-half weeks ago. Now you’re bitter, and broke. You’ve basically devised a ‘not-so-legal’ scheme to make a profit, as there isn’t any freelance work for guild-less mercs in such a large city. You’re pretty much cheating at a common pub game. One of the more wily characters in the group can be the player, whilst the others sit around the pub doing guard patrol, and crowd control. This has been going on since a few days after your guild was put out of business.

The city you guys start in is named Sharn, The City of Towers. Here’s some info on Sharn from the Campaign guide. I’ll only loosely be using this guide because I don’t want to get bogged down with lore and rules. I’m only using the setting. The rest will be made up.

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The lightning rail slowly rounds a bend, and between high crags the city comes into view. Its towers stretch up to the sky, disappearing into a slate-gray dome of clouds. Lights gleam in a thousand windows and smoke trails up from chimneys and billows from unseen furnaces. Great bridges arch between towers; magical lifts glide up and down along glowing strands of light; flying vessels drift from balcony to mooring tower. The fiery rings of enormous elemental airships blaze against a stormy sky, and the depths of the city glow with the ruddy light of its foundries and forges. “Welcome to Sharn,” someone mutters, but her voice holds no warmth.