A Hero is a person who lives with what he does.
-Collected Ambri Sayings, Vol 1, #8
This section lists some information for the Campaign. It will be named as it goes no, as long as the name doesn't mention Nanoc.
First off, some simple facts everyone knows are true. Your PC will know them.
Your PCs are immortal. Whether you Know this or not is up to you. If you know it, thats because you've died at least once. If you know you're immortal because fo that, or thing you're dead and this is the afterlife or undead or whatnot is entirely up to you. Your PC will NOT know the game mechanics behind being immortal. K, of all the PCs, does know that immortals do die a final death eventually, after around 12 or 15 lives lived but has no idea if thats common for all, or just for the few older immortals he's met.
This will be a nice table listing the players, their PC and classes.
After Akran fell, The god Xeran unleashed a plague into the world - or perhaps the high priests of Xeran did - that changes what one can recall. Essentially acting as a version of Alzheimer’s Disease, this prevents people from recalling things that happen each day and has proven to be very nasty to elves and bards. In game terms, if your PC misses a session you got hit by the plague that day and even if you acted your PC recalls nothing of that session. This is not only good for players absent for a while, but also means that I don't have to explain what happened last session since you don't know it :)
This is the introductory stuff to the city of Ebittu where the campaign begins.
The city of Ebittu is a large, sprawling settlement along the Great River. Theoretically a democracy, the deposed nobility seem to get elected more often than not and many of the prominent politicians are the sons of politicians. While this makes a joke of democracy, it isn’t entirely unusual. The nobility - sorry, democratically elected representatives of the people - dwell on the hill, a series of 3 hills near the river and overlooking the rest of the city.
Nestled on the east bank of the river, between the docks and the city proper, lies the area known only as Flotsam. Filled with scum, thieves, the poor and prostitutes, this area is cheap to live in and to die in. Here, ale flows unwatered and men often play with their lives in games of chance, having nothing else to offer. The people here tend to think themselves as evil, but they’re really no worse than anyone else.
It is currently winter as you arrive in the city. Snow gathered in the eaves of stone and wooden buildings, dusting the streets with a peaceful haze in the late evening when the evil have slunk off to sleep and the good haven’t risen to face the day. The force of Umar has struck quickly this year and in Flotsam you can see snow entering broken and boarded up buildings and make out the odd, frozen shape beneath it, some surely too small to be adults.
The watch is conspicuously absent in Flotsam but the air is filled with tension and you see small clumps of people talking in hurried, angry whispers at each street corner. You overhear mentions of a river tax from time to time and Lord Hardly, said in tones of scathing contempt and perhaps fear as well.
For various reasons, drawn by fate, chance, the gods or other dark forces in the world, you find yourselves in a large, open square at the edge of Flotsam where the honest people of the city have built a wall to protect themselves from seeing this part of the city. At the wall between Flotsam and the docks a crowd has gathered, shouting insults and ignoring the steadily falling snows. The guard are on the wall, wearing leather armour and carrying clubs and many of them look nervous.
Some of these guards have a gaunt, haunted look that never really went away and are refusing to look at the crowd directly, not wanting to see people they knew. Insults and names are screamed at that but its obvious they are chosing this job over whatever loyalty they had to the area that gave them birth. Other guards look at the rioters with smug self-righteousness and wait mockingly for the unarmed masses to try and attack.
A few people in the crowd see the armed PCs and begin approaching you, whether to ask for aid or steal your weapons you’re not quite sure because a tall, rangy man climbs up onto the wall. He’s human, in his early 40’s and balding, wearing glasses and looks tired. His accent is obviously high-born as he says: “People! People! Calm down .... there is no need for this .... ”
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