Drakkwall
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jun 14, 2006
- Posts
- 4,353
Through the lands of Faerun is one of the most famous regions the Frozen North, home to many of the dangerous creatures that roams the lands and the skies. There lies the city of Neverwinter, the Jewel of the North, having lived through many struggles in its existence the city has a sense of veteran like skills when it comes to survival, combat, honor and loyalty.
And yet darkness threatens to engulf Neverwinter once more, raiding parties of orcs have become more and more regular near the Old Owl's Well, the closest water source for many day's traveling in the mountains, making it important for Neverwinter and the orcs in the mountains. And yet the orcs have become too many, too tactical and too well equiped for being simple raiding parties. Something else is guiding the orcs of the mountains and it is becoming a danger to the trading caravans Neverwinter send through the passages of the mountains past Old Owl's Well.
And yet the orcs are not the only dangers nowadays, there are rumors of shadowy elves assassinating merchants, nobles and high ranking officers within the walls of Neverwinter itself, disappearing like a ghastly whisper, leaving only the symbol of a spider behind.
But the quest to solve this mystery begins not in Neverwinter but in the village of Rockroot Haven, in the tavern/inn known as the Dragon's Hoard. This is where the tale begins, where YOUR tale begins, and may it be told for ages to come.
The night is thick over the small villafe of Rockroot Haven, the snow of the winter thickly covering its buildings, streets and lands, the streets are buzzling with people doing late night shopping and night walks, or mugging. It is not as active as in the clear day but there's a good deal of people out in the night to do and buy things. The big castle called the Rockroot Keep, is the nearest outpost of the military forces of Neverwinter. but it is not very used because of the raised worries about orcs raids by the Old Owl's Well so most of the soldiers have been pulled back to there to raise the defenses, leaving a meager force of one hundred and fifty men, and fifty women.
On the slightly busy night streets of the small village lies four shops, a nice old general stored called Fjorn's Warez, owned by the gnome Fjorn Stockfoot, a blacksmith workshop called The Banging Hammer, owned by an half-orc named Thurg Gorgenasher, an alchemy shop called the Frozen Thistle, owned by an old human alchemist, and wizard, named Georg Frostthistle, and finally the fletchery and bowery workshop called the Skinning Arrow, owned by the halfling Heurth Stringfinger.
Inside the warm welcoming glow of the strong fire in the fireplace of the Dragon's Hoard is a buzzle of activity as the local drunks, tired travelers and exhausted adventurers gathers to enjoy the nightlife of booze, food and wenches, sometimes all at once. The tiefling bartender Tuumla Fyrehand, is a former adventuring warlock whose frost and fire magics makes for excellent cooking and drink making. Her part owner, and husband, the human werebear Ethlas Earthpaw, a former druid adventuer, is the one to act as a bouncer for the bar/inn and to entertain some of the guests with his magic, summons and his thrusty friend and companion Ulthrom, a dire bear who loves to perform tricks for an audience, if they give him threats.
Five different tavern wenches are moving around giving drinks to the costumers, two elven maidens, one high elf vand one wild elf, dressed in whitre aprons and extra long green tunics, and only that, leaving their sexy legs uncovered, their lower regions barely covered, and a fine cleavage pushign against the materials of the materials of the apron and the tunics. Two human wenches, apparently twins as they were both busty, curvy red heads that looked like carbon copies, dressed in the traditional tavern wench outfit, short skirt, corset and stockings. And finally the last one was a bit more exotic, a catfolk, aparently a panther as she was pitchblack, around 5 feet tall, slim built, but with a nice chest and rear, dressed in... nothing but a black apron, leaving nothing to the imagination, if you do not count the fur.
In one of the corneres, the one left of the big fireplace, is a large figure drinking bear and eatign a whole roasted boar, though eating it piece by pieces instead of the whole thing. Thick warty ski ncovered the figure headto toes, dressed in slightly torn leather armor, armed to the teeth, which could also be counted as weapons as they are very sharp. And also a black travelers cloak strapped around the neck, a thick backpack lying by the bottom of the big couch the figure was sitting on. The glowing eyes of the figure looked over the tavern as it drank its tankard dry with a couple of gulps, its masculine shape flexing its muscles as it swallowed. Putting down the empty tankard on the table and takign a dee pbite out of the roasted boar leg in his hand, the figure was clearly a troll, commonly an evi lbeing who ate manflesh, or any other flesh, even rotten, but this troll apparently had intelligense and no taste for manflesh as he was too busy enjoying his roasted meat.
Many of the patrons eyed the huge creature with distress as a troll was commonly thought of as a monster, and for a monster to act peacefu land intelligent, even if he couldn't speak very well, it was enough to make anyone nervous, even the two experienced adventurers who own the tavern. The troll's name is Bareuk Stonefist and he is a rare kind of troll, an intelligent troll who has no taste for intelligent flesh, nor has he any interest of killing for fun, he has been forced to leave his home in the moutnains because of what he is, even though he only kill in self defense. He has been going through a lot of trials to get through the Old Owl's Well, literally, as the guard didn't want to give him passage without him doing some tasks, and that was after he managed to make them stop shooting arrows at him.
Now after nearly a motnh of traveling around doing tasks the troll was taking his time to relax, eat and drink, enjoying it to its fullest as he had never had roasted boar made by anyone except himself before. Not caring about the looks he recieved the troll kept eating his meal in peace, thinking of taking a nap in his bed in the barn, he had managed to make a deal with the owner to sleep in a bed in the barn as it was the only place big enough for someoen of his size and weight to be inside.
But let's leave Bareuk and his meal and focus on the other souls who wil lfind themselves drawn into the life of this troll and the adventure he and they will go through.
And yet darkness threatens to engulf Neverwinter once more, raiding parties of orcs have become more and more regular near the Old Owl's Well, the closest water source for many day's traveling in the mountains, making it important for Neverwinter and the orcs in the mountains. And yet the orcs have become too many, too tactical and too well equiped for being simple raiding parties. Something else is guiding the orcs of the mountains and it is becoming a danger to the trading caravans Neverwinter send through the passages of the mountains past Old Owl's Well.
And yet the orcs are not the only dangers nowadays, there are rumors of shadowy elves assassinating merchants, nobles and high ranking officers within the walls of Neverwinter itself, disappearing like a ghastly whisper, leaving only the symbol of a spider behind.
But the quest to solve this mystery begins not in Neverwinter but in the village of Rockroot Haven, in the tavern/inn known as the Dragon's Hoard. This is where the tale begins, where YOUR tale begins, and may it be told for ages to come.
The night is thick over the small villafe of Rockroot Haven, the snow of the winter thickly covering its buildings, streets and lands, the streets are buzzling with people doing late night shopping and night walks, or mugging. It is not as active as in the clear day but there's a good deal of people out in the night to do and buy things. The big castle called the Rockroot Keep, is the nearest outpost of the military forces of Neverwinter. but it is not very used because of the raised worries about orcs raids by the Old Owl's Well so most of the soldiers have been pulled back to there to raise the defenses, leaving a meager force of one hundred and fifty men, and fifty women.
On the slightly busy night streets of the small village lies four shops, a nice old general stored called Fjorn's Warez, owned by the gnome Fjorn Stockfoot, a blacksmith workshop called The Banging Hammer, owned by an half-orc named Thurg Gorgenasher, an alchemy shop called the Frozen Thistle, owned by an old human alchemist, and wizard, named Georg Frostthistle, and finally the fletchery and bowery workshop called the Skinning Arrow, owned by the halfling Heurth Stringfinger.
Inside the warm welcoming glow of the strong fire in the fireplace of the Dragon's Hoard is a buzzle of activity as the local drunks, tired travelers and exhausted adventurers gathers to enjoy the nightlife of booze, food and wenches, sometimes all at once. The tiefling bartender Tuumla Fyrehand, is a former adventuring warlock whose frost and fire magics makes for excellent cooking and drink making. Her part owner, and husband, the human werebear Ethlas Earthpaw, a former druid adventuer, is the one to act as a bouncer for the bar/inn and to entertain some of the guests with his magic, summons and his thrusty friend and companion Ulthrom, a dire bear who loves to perform tricks for an audience, if they give him threats.
Five different tavern wenches are moving around giving drinks to the costumers, two elven maidens, one high elf vand one wild elf, dressed in whitre aprons and extra long green tunics, and only that, leaving their sexy legs uncovered, their lower regions barely covered, and a fine cleavage pushign against the materials of the materials of the apron and the tunics. Two human wenches, apparently twins as they were both busty, curvy red heads that looked like carbon copies, dressed in the traditional tavern wench outfit, short skirt, corset and stockings. And finally the last one was a bit more exotic, a catfolk, aparently a panther as she was pitchblack, around 5 feet tall, slim built, but with a nice chest and rear, dressed in... nothing but a black apron, leaving nothing to the imagination, if you do not count the fur.
In one of the corneres, the one left of the big fireplace, is a large figure drinking bear and eatign a whole roasted boar, though eating it piece by pieces instead of the whole thing. Thick warty ski ncovered the figure headto toes, dressed in slightly torn leather armor, armed to the teeth, which could also be counted as weapons as they are very sharp. And also a black travelers cloak strapped around the neck, a thick backpack lying by the bottom of the big couch the figure was sitting on. The glowing eyes of the figure looked over the tavern as it drank its tankard dry with a couple of gulps, its masculine shape flexing its muscles as it swallowed. Putting down the empty tankard on the table and takign a dee pbite out of the roasted boar leg in his hand, the figure was clearly a troll, commonly an evi lbeing who ate manflesh, or any other flesh, even rotten, but this troll apparently had intelligense and no taste for manflesh as he was too busy enjoying his roasted meat.
Many of the patrons eyed the huge creature with distress as a troll was commonly thought of as a monster, and for a monster to act peacefu land intelligent, even if he couldn't speak very well, it was enough to make anyone nervous, even the two experienced adventurers who own the tavern. The troll's name is Bareuk Stonefist and he is a rare kind of troll, an intelligent troll who has no taste for intelligent flesh, nor has he any interest of killing for fun, he has been forced to leave his home in the moutnains because of what he is, even though he only kill in self defense. He has been going through a lot of trials to get through the Old Owl's Well, literally, as the guard didn't want to give him passage without him doing some tasks, and that was after he managed to make them stop shooting arrows at him.
Now after nearly a motnh of traveling around doing tasks the troll was taking his time to relax, eat and drink, enjoying it to its fullest as he had never had roasted boar made by anyone except himself before. Not caring about the looks he recieved the troll kept eating his meal in peace, thinking of taking a nap in his bed in the barn, he had managed to make a deal with the owner to sleep in a bed in the barn as it was the only place big enough for someoen of his size and weight to be inside.
But let's leave Bareuk and his meal and focus on the other souls who wil lfind themselves drawn into the life of this troll and the adventure he and they will go through.
