Change Yourself, Change the World: Initiation

The goliath cobalt-skinned dragonborn rested against a withering oak; his claws rapping against the polished steel of his massive fullblade as it impaled the ground. The thin chime echoed only briefly beneath the warbling of the morning birds amd the soft rush of wind breezing across the wild field where Grash Company was set up. They were miles from their beloved city of Arkhosia and quite a distance from the nearest road, but they were far from lost. Instead this veteran gang was patiently waiting to ensure, without a shadow of a doubt, that they would achieve a flawless victory. Cormag’s tick was rhythmic and only served to pass the time, but the renowned mercenary was carefully absorbing his surroundings with his full attention so much so that he greeted the return of his scout even before the young dragonborn had come into view. “How’s it look, Marlow?”

Change Yourself, Change the World: Growing Wounds

“…and all I want is another cup!” The patrons of the Dragon’s Den were joined in an inebriated harmony; singing a treasured Arkhosian drinking song as the faint evening sun faded away to cast the City of Dragons in an ebon shade. The citizens of Arkhosia called these hours the “Drow Curfew” after the near pitch black darkness that the city became enveloped in once the sun’s meager rays disappeared. The pale moonlight could barely pierce the perpetual shroud that filtered the dawn into a fraction of its once reaching influence, and thus the City of Dragons became a chaotic playground for thieves, criminals, and vagabonds to hunt the streets looking for unfortunate prey. For the regulars of the Dragon’s Den they ushered in this sinister event with a pride filled chorus to celebrate the next few hours of drinking. After all, once the Drow Curfew began it was easy to justify settling in with a tall bottle to keep you company.

Change Yourself, Change the World: Chaser Blues

The faint red glow of the twilight sun cast Arkhosia in a ruddy shade to bring another day of life in the City of Dragons to an end. However as these final hours were drawing to a close the Dragon’s Den was only now opening its door for the rush of patrons and vagabonds crawling out from their holes and alleyways to celebrate, once again, another successful day spent staying alive in the slums of this mighty capital. Thin trails of smoke slipped through the cracks of the tavern’s weathered windowpanes as regulars shared stories of their turmoil or caught themselves deep in a reminiscing isolation with only a pale tan reflection staring back at them in their solace. It was by all accounts a normal day in this Arkhosian dive, save for the red haired human teen seen sitting alone near the back of the bar clad in nothing but a dingy white t-shirt that hung loosely from her shoulders and stretched down near her knees.

Change Yourself, Change the World: Arkhosian Discipline

The Dragon’s Den. It was a small tavern deep in the Arkhosian slums that not many knew about, and that didn’t care about attracting newcomers. From the outside it was unimpressive lot accented by smoke damaged windows and a sign that only read in Draconic. Though the thick scent of sulfur always hung in the air in Arkhosia it smelled particularly putrid around this establishment as the noxious fumes blended with the odor of cheap liquor to form a truly heinous stench. The company seen hanging around the bar were no more inviting either as shifty dealers and vagabonds passed by looking for any unfortunate mark to catch their eye. It was this low down den that Canna found herself drawn to having decided that she should dive head first into the belly of the Arkhosian beast. The meager coin she entered the city with was almost at an end, and before long she’d be sleeping on the streets though the prospect of that outcome only served to excite the wild eyed idealist. She wanted things to be challenging so there would she could claim no regrets after crossing over the wall, but now was the time for one last luxury.

Change Yourself, Change the World: Violent Meetings

“If you want to keep living in this house you need to understand that I know what’s best for you.” Those were the last words that Jude Corbett told her teenage daughter on that calamitous evening, and as far as Canna was concerned it would be the last thing ever said in their relationship. It was now approaching noon on the day after, and Canna was already miles away from her simple home in Southgate. She walked the long road to Arkhosia alone with nothing but the ragged clothes on her back, a handful of gold in her pocket, and a rusted old sword hanging from her hip. It was a meager inventory to be sure, but Canna wanted to make this trip without the temptation of luxury or the comfort of a safety net beneath her. It was a huge step forward for a girl who had spent the past few years learning the fundamentals of swordsmanship from the drunken vagabonds or ex-soldiers for whatever meager coin she could offer for their next drink. She was no longer a child who needed to hide her ambitions, and now she felt her chance to find her own future was before her—not that one could tell by looking at her.

The violent vixen had her usual grim scowl plastered onto her face, and her passionate eyes were drawn to a narrow state as though she were shooting daggers at everything she happened upon. Travelers of all sorts found themselves turning their attention away from the unruly teenager as they passed by, and not a soul paid her any mind. At least that’s how it was for the majority of her journey, but one unfortunate merchant sought to chance his luck with the dour dame.