Shadows Over Blackfeather: Darkness Rising.

[GameMaster]

In the shadowy realms beneath the earth, amidst the clang of pickaxes and the low murmur of dwarven songs, a young human, Thur'Ryl Umz'min, carved out his early years. Raised by sturdy dwarven hands after a tragic encounter with dark-skinned dwarves, Thur'Ryl's life was a tapestry of subterranean adventures and the warm glow of forge fires. His blueish shaggy hair and entrancing eyes were a stark contrast to his rugged surroundings, a testament to his human lineage amid his adopted clan.

Despite his deep bonds with the dwarves, particularly his dwarven father Meric Toothgrinder, the echoing halls beneath the mountains could not forever contain Thur'Ryl's spirit. The death of Meric at the hands of goblins ignited a spark within him, a call to the world above and beyond. With a heart heavy with loss but eyes set on the horizon, Thur'Ryl ascended from the depths, seeking a new stanza in the song of his life.

The village of Blackfeather Bridge, a mere speck cradled by the woods and River Ashaba, was where Thur'Ryl's feet led him. He arrived with little more than his tools, his skills, and the memories of his underground kin. The village was simple, its people hearty and welcoming. Thur'Ryl, with his dwarven-taught craftmanship, quickly found a place among them, his smithing skills as much a novelty as they were a necessity.

He befriended the local blacksmith, an amiable man named Ebor, who shared Thur'Ryl's love for the forge. The village healer, a wise woman named Serah, intrigued him with her knowledge of herbs and stories of the magical beings of the forest. And then there was young Jorin, a spirited lad whose fascination with Thur'Ryl's tales of the underground never waned.

Days turned to weeks, and the village began to feel like home... but peace is often a precursor to storm.


One serene evening that seemed quite the same as any other, as the village settled into a comfortable routine, a distraught woodcutter known as Old Tom stumbled into the square, his face etched with panic. Between labored breaths, he recounted a harrowing tale: the beloved unicorn, a creature of myth and healing that resided in the nearby woods, had been seized by a band of malevolent goblins.

The news sent ripples of shock and fear through the village. The unicorn wasn't just a myth; it was a guardian, a symbol of peace and healing for the villagers and the surrounding lands. Its loss was not just a tragedy; it was a call to action, a plea for someone to stand against the encroaching darkness.

As the villagers gathered to discuss the fate of the unicorn and contemplate a rescue, Thur'Ryl stood among them, his heart stirring with the echoes of his own past losses and a burgeoning determination to aid these people who had become his new family.


In the hushed assembly of villagers, Old Tom stepped forward, his gaze sweeping across the faces of his neighbors, reflecting a mix of determination and somber acceptance.

"Friends," he began, his voice steady despite the gravity of his message, "I know the woods as I know the lines on my own hands. The tracks of a deer, the whisper of the wind through the leaves, the silent language of the streams—I've lived it all. In my youth, my bow and I kept peace in these forests, safeguarding our home from threats."

He paused, his eyes momentarily closing as if reliving a past long gone, then opened them with a resolute glint.

"But the years have marched on, and with them, my days of drawing the bow and racing through the underbrush have passed. My heart is still that of a ranger, but my body... it no longer obeys the commands of youth."

A murmur ran through the crowd, a mix of respect and concern.

"I can guide you, lead you to where these vile creatures hide, help you track their movements and plan our approach. My mind is as sharp as ever, and my knowledge of these lands is unmatched. But when steel meets steel I must entrust the fight to you, to younger hands."

[SirWheelzALot]

Thur'Ryl steps forward and speaks. "If ye be leadn' the way, me mace be more than willin' to be polished by goblin blood. When we leavin?."
Thur'Ryl Umz'Min couldn't help but get a little excited. The thought of smashing a goblin's skull after what had happened to his adopted father, Meric. An adventure, a beginning, a chance. May many goblins lay dead, on the road to the rescue of a beautiful unicorn.

[GameMaster]

In the midst of the tense atmosphere, Thur'Ryl's declaration cut through the murmurs like a sharp blade. The villagers turned their eyes to him, seeing not just the forge-hardened craftsman they knew, but a warrior ignited by a quest for justice and a thirst for adventure.

Before the echoes of Thur'Ryl's bold words had faded, a sly, confident voice emerged from an unexpected corner of the square. All eyes shifted to the stockades where a young figure sat, the mischievous glint in their eyes belying their current predicament. This was Lyra, known throughout Blackfeather Bridge as a skilled rogue with a penchant for finding trouble as easily as she found hidden treasures or unlocked the most stubborn locks.

Despite her questionable reputation, Lyra's skills were undeniable. Agile, cunning, and with a knack for moving unseen, she was a thorn in the side of those who crossed her yet a potential asset in times of need.

Old Tom, recognizing the potential in every pair of willing hands, especially those as adept as Lyra's, stepped forward once more. "I know what you're thinking," he addressed the villagers, his gaze resting momentarily on Lyra before sweeping across the crowd. "Lyra here has caused her fair share of mischief, no doubt. But she's one of us, a child of Blackfeather Bridge, and she's got skills we need. Skills honed not in the light of day but in the shadows where goblins lurk."

He walked closer to the stockades, his voice firm yet imbued with a persuasive warmth. "This is a chance for redemption, a chance for Lyra to use her unique talents for the good of us all. We're not just fighting goblins; we're outsmarting them, rescuing a creature of pure magic. And for that, we need every ally, every skill, every advantage we can muster. Let's give her the opportunity to fight for her home, to prove that the skills she's used to defy us can also be used to protect us."

The villagers exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of skepticism and contemplation. The situation was dire, and Old Tom's words resonated with a hard truth: in the face of darkness, every light, no matter how small or flickering, was vital.

As the villagers murmured among themselves, weighing Old Tom's proposition and Kyra's plea, Mayor Eldwin, a wise and measured leader respected by the community, stepped forward. His presence commanded a calm silence, and all eyes turned to him, awaiting his judgment.

"Good people of Blackfeather Bridge," Mayor Eldwin began, his voice carrying a reassuring steadiness, "we find ourselves at a crossroads, not just of paths but of principles. Kyra, though her past may be checkered with mischief and misdeeds, is still one of our own. Who among us hasn't yearned for a chance at redemption? For an opportunity to right the wrongs of our past?"

He turned to look at Kyra, his gaze not condemning but understanding. "Kyra has skills that are indispensable to this mission. Skills that, until now, we've seen only as a nuisance. But in these trying times, they could be our greatest asset. Her knowledge of stealth, her agility, and her sharp mind can make the difference between success and failure."

Eldwin's gaze swept back to the gathered villagers. "Let us not be blinded by past grievances but look to the future and the greater good. In allowing Kyra to join this mission, we're not just giving her a chance at redemption; we're strengthening our chances of bringing our beloved unicorn home."

He paused, allowing his words to resonate with the villagers. "I say we unlock those stockades and allow Kyra to stand with Thur'Ryl and any others brave enough to embark on this quest. Together, they represent the best of us—courage, skill, and the capacity for change."

The villagers, influenced by Mayor Eldwin's words, began to nod in agreement, their initial reservations giving way to a sense of unity and purpose. The mayor motioned to the guard, who approached the stockades with keys in hand.

As the lock clicked open and Kyra stepped out, a sense of renewed hope filled the air. Not just for the mission ahead, but for the village itself, demonstrating a belief in second chances and the collective strength of its people.

"Thank you," Kyra said, her voice tinged with a rare sincerity, as she glanced at the mayor, then at the villagers, and finally at Thur'Ryl. "I won't let you down."

With that, the assembly dispersed, not as a crowd of worried individuals, but as a community united in a common cause, each person playing a part in the unfolding story of courage, redemption, and the fight against encroaching darkness.

Old Tom nodded at Kyra's declaration, his gaze shifting to Thur'Ryl, who stood with a resolute posture, his own readiness evident. The old ranger then addressed both of them, ensuring their collective preparedness.

"Thur'Ryl, Kyra," Tom began, his voice steady, "Our journey is fraught with peril, and haste is essential. But haste without preparation can lead to downfall. Do you need to gather anything, or are you prepared to embark on this quest?"

"Nope," Kyra said, looking back nervously.  "Ready to go immediately.  Like, right now, actually..."

[SirWheelzALot]

Thur'Ryl replied, "Me bag be packed, gear be ready, just grabbin it.." rushing away to retrieve his gear.
He didn't really care to pay too much attention to anything but the adventure ahead, except the urgency in Kyra's statement.
Thur'Ryl "knew" only, that he'd be the first to strike down a goblin. Not Tom and definitely not this sneak. "First blood be mine," he mumbles as he rushes to grab his belongings for the road and catch back up with them.

[GameMaster]

Along with Old Tom and Kyra, you venture into the dense woods, leaving the familiar boundaries of Blackfeather Bridge behind. The forest is thick with underbrush, making your progress challenging. Old Tom leads, using his knowledge of the land to navigate through the less obstructed paths, though the going is still tough.

As you move, you're keenly aware of the forest's sounds and the occasional rustle of wildlife, alert for any hint of danger or sign of the goblins you're tracking. The hours wear on, deep into the night you notice he terrain gradually shifts as you approach the base of a mountain, the trees thinning out to reveal the rocky face ahead.

In front of you stands a crude wooden door set against the mountain, marking a clear transition from the natural world into what must be the goblins' domain.