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The Expendables Eberron
The Expendables Eberron
Aug 11 '11
Feb 24 '12 at 6:49pm
The Expendables, Eberron
New Cyre is a place of great hope, terrible sadnes and incredible guilt. The emotional charge of the new country is only outweighed by the potential it brings: for investment, employment and nefarious deeds. First, shipments of food went missing, later building materials. Muggings and violent crime were on the rise, and the lawmen seemed more interested in lining their pockets than protecting their wards. Suspicion grew, no-one knew who to trust or even whether to stay; it certainly wasn't any home they felt like having. Then, out of the blue, Gillam ir'Arcor stepped in. Practically self-appointed the new marshal began bashing heads, clearing out the corrupt and personally financing a new round of growth. A retired war hero, Gillam was not afraid of anyone or anything. The death threats came in almost immediately but only spurred him on to greater efforts. A fair, just and powerful individual, he succeeded in turning around the country in a matter of months. Given his numerous enemies, no-one was surprised when he went missing. For days the country hung on the precipice. While the majority of the populace practically worshipped him, the relative few that hated him held the positions of wealth and power. They used their privileges to reinstate their power and take over again. The people tried to fight back but without a leader, without direction, they failed.
All is not lost however. The wheels that Gillam set in motion are still turning albeit more slowly. The people know now how they want to live, it is just a case of getting there. For every corrupt politician there is another who yearns for peace and humble prosperity. Even some of the crooks found Gillam's honesty and honour refreshing. This is a turning point for New Cyre and the next few months, or even weeks, and the actions of key people will determine its fate. Will it turn into a pit of depravity. Or be destroyed just as surely as its predecessor. Or will it become a beacon of hope and englightenment, bright enough for the whole of Khorvaire to follow. That remains to be seen.
Landor smiled. It had been an excellent idea to come to New Cyre, even if he said so himself. True, he'd already got quite a bit put aside from his mercenary work during the Last War but the pay here was rather good. Another few months, possibly less and he'd be able to retire in style.
Landor enjoyed the idea of style though most people who'd met him said he wouldn't know style if it slapped him around his ugly face. But Landor carried a rather large axe so those people would wait for him to leave first. A big man, Landor stood a good head above most folk and had the muscles to fill out such a frame. It was his prowess as a warrior and his unflappable self-faith that made him the leader of his small troupe.
Miranda was his longest ally, if not actual friend. The half-elf was not someone who let others into her life. The height of professionalism, she took her work very seriously. If anyone had ever witnessed her doing anything but work or train they wisely kept their silence on the matter.
The third and final member of the party was new. The last priest had had a drinking problem in that he drunk a mislabeled potion and died. Landor and Miranda had split his share of the loot however and given him a good burial, to show they cared. The halfling priest, Cham, was too young for a beard but he still gamely sported odd tufts of fluff around his chin. Landor enjoyed hours of picking fun at the young believer. Cham was not as impressed by his jokes as Landor thought. Already the halfling was planning what he would say before healing the big man the next time he was injured.
Krusk, the half-orc scout, was laid out in a fever back in town so the group were down one. Cham had suggested finding another scout but Landor had just scoffed. More cash all round, he had cried. Who needs that stinking orc anyway? We have eyes!
Landor failed to see the irony of the situation when, later that day, he led his troupe into an ambush. Miranda took down a pair of bandits before being felled by arrows. Landor himself charged impressively on his powerful horse but his great axe, it turned out, was no use against archers shooting from cover. It took a considerable number of arrows to take him down. His dying words, as Cham recalls quite clearly and will gladly repeat for the low, low price of an ale ('yes, I am old enough to drink thank you very much') were 'should have hired a scout'. At the first sign of trouble Cham had hidden behind his horse. In all the chaos he'd managed to sneak away. Later he had crept back and looted his former allies' bodies. It hadn't occurred to him at the time that most bandits took the time to rob their targets after killing them.
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