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Welcome to Endirum, a principal port in the northeast of Vue. To the east of the city lies the Grand Desert of Quesar. Vasar caravan routes reach their final destination here, so Endirum is a vibrant trading post. To the west lies jungle as far as the eye can see, stretching even further south and west towards the river city of Biya R'Zala, a capital of the reptilian people called the Qunehali. The barbaric Highland Tribes occupy the hills and mountains to the northwest.

Endirum's climate is warm, and alternates between humid and arid depending on the season and the direction of the prevailing winds. The architecture is primarily composed of sandstone, though plenty of the residents of Endirum live in tents or other forms of temporary housing.

Endirum is quite safe, being guarded in part by the mercenaries known as the Fateful Whip, paid by the city council. Endirum is also home to a rapidly growing adventurer's guild, which has been known to clash with the Fateful Whip at times, though the conflict has not devolved into violence... yet.

You happen to be a member of the Adventurer's Guild of Endirum. You have been there at its inception, or you may be a newcomer, but either way, your membership has been approved and processed.

Right now, you find yourself in the Adventurer's Guild. Let's give you a look around:

When you first enter the Guild Hall, you will walk straight into the Great Room. Here, adventurers dine, converse, trade, play games of chance and more. Off to the left, you can enter the stables where all Guild steeds and pets are housed and tended to by skilled trainers. Further down the Great Room and off to the left, there is a healer's room and a library and study. Off to the right, you can enter the supply vault where weapons, armors and other supplies are kept, delivered to worthy members of the Guild and repaired if necessary. Further off to the right, there are small training rooms where various skills may be practiced. At the end of the Great Room and slightly to the left, there is a spacious porch from which Endirum's harbor can be viewed. At the end of the Great Room and slightly to the right, there is a staircase leading to the living quarters, a place where most Guild members call home.

Motix the Sublander

Motix sat at a stool before a large but otherwise empty table in the Great Room of the Adventurer's Guild Hall in Endirum. He took a spoon of porridge and slurped it down. He was unmoved by the bland taste of his meal and for a moment or two, he looked upon it with disgust, as if it was a metaphor for his life.

Like the porridge, his life had been lacking flavor for some time. He had come to Endirum looking for a change, a spark, something to shock him out of a long slumber. For some time, he had found that spark by taking in the scenery of the city, conversing with well-traveled merchants and flirtatious barmaids and sampling spices from beyond the seas.

But now, as he looked upon his tasteless meal and the empty guild hall, he longed for something more. More flavor. More excitement. More action.

Rohan Murrolet

The men surrounded by mountains of ale and tankards left not a single impression, nor the bar wench as Rohan passed by the drunkards.
Adventures, he thought to himself. Surely there are a more cultured breed of us to be found.
Endirum was, after all, renown for its history and culture, not its drunken savants and dull spelunkers that inhabited the guild halls. He sought refuge from the debauchery and cacophony that plagued his new guild. Surely there must be a library he could peruse.
As he strolled down the sandstone hallways, the neighing of horses slowly drowning the howls of the drunkards nearby, his nose picked up a familiar scent; musty tomes. He walked with a great pace and entered into the guild library.
The tomes overwhelmed his senses. Books on astronomy, history, warfare, herbs and fauna, religion, and even poetry filled the walls. A small study was set up as well, proving that maybe this hellhole of sandstone and degenerates may have something of value. Sitting down on the wooden chair, legs propped on the desk, Rohan pulled a dusty tome and read the title.
'The History of the Qunehali,' he thought to himself. 'Well, it's a start.'
He found his place in the small guild and was not inclined to leave, lest adventure were to pop up at any moment.

Exile The Wanderer

The Elven Male, a Veteran of the Guild of Adventurers, took his normal spot in the corner, having returned from another fruitless search through the city for his missing companions. It was strange, he could not even remember their names. Only a single word ran through his head repeatedly "Ringmaster".

The Elf shook his head, bringing his emerald green hues up to look at the drunkards, and other adventurers nearby, some new, some old, and yet he recognized none of them. As a being who valued being alone, and just the peace of the forest, it was rare to see him here in the Guild when he wasn't on a Mission for the Guild. Still, perhaps it would be better if he came more often, seeking information that only seemed to come from the Guild. He sat quietly in the Great Room, his hues closing as he attempted again to pierce the fog that veiled his memory. "Why can't I remember?" He complained to himself, before looking up at the people around him.

"Guess its time to find some work, I'm running low on Gold." Standing up, he made his way quietly towards the Job Board, where the Masters posted the newest Jobs. Spotting one that seemed simple enough, titled quite simply "Swarm of Rats", The Elf tore the page down, intending to take this job, reading the description.


Swarms of Rats has invaded my food stores and are refusing the remove themselves. Please send a Skilled Adventurer to deal with my problem

Voltan Deadwood

Voltan staggers up to an empty table in the corner, eyeing the shadows thoughtfully before he deftly spins and partially collapses into his seat. He snatches off his fox fur cap and slaps it on the table with one hand while he pours a dark liquid into his mouth from a pewter-topped stein with the other. His eyes are bloodshot and his breath threatens to burst into flame if he gets too near a candle, so he sits and waits for the opportunity to catch the big one.

Now that's a thought to put a grin on a man's face if ever there was one. The Big One. The final catch. The bounty big enough to send him into permanent retirement, where he could stop turning out to these cesspools of mingling and interaction to advertise his services. But where to find such a haul? Perhaps the mark would walk through the door any day now. No sense in suffering while waiting, though.

"I think it's time for another beer." Yes. Another beer seems like JUST the ticket...

The rattling of dice at a nearby table catches attention and his smile widens. About the only people in the world you can associate with without getting caught up in personal details are gamblers. Yes, a beer and a game or two of dice seem like the answer to another fruitless search for retirement.

Bronan the Barbarian

Alone at the table, Bronan brushes a great, corded hand across his greasy mouth, still chewing and champing; his other hand clutches a half-devoured deer leg, chunks of flesh still dangling off a reddish bone. Seemingly unaware of the proceedings in the hall, Bronan continues in his mission to whet his appetite, one massive bite at a time, when a man with sunken cheeks and a rat-like countenance dumps his plate of seeds and dried cake before the careless barbarian.

"Oy you! You're coming in on me space, and I do not like it. Oy I am talking to you! Come, you, look at Phefrd when he talks-"

The weasel is cut short when, without warning, Bronan thrusts his fists club-like at his face, landing a blow so terrific that it lends a grotesque crack that reverberates across the room. Before the rat-like man even goes down, Bronan, in one springy motion too quick for the untrained eye, clouts him across the noggin with his meal tray, and the adversary simply crumples to the floor like a broken ragdoll.

Silence reigns across the room for the split duration of this episode, but it does not take long for the chorale of chatter to resume as the patrons return to their plates and conversations. Bronan, seemingly unconcerned about the whole episode, raises a hand and beckons the man behind the counter.

"Sir?" asks the meek, balding man as he approaches Bronan. In reply, Bronan simply points to his overturned tray on the floor, and then at the weaselly man acutely trying to crawl away, and grunts, "My tray is empty and the trash is on the floor."

Quest thread posted: http://www.gog.com/forum/general/agoe_1_forum_rp