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World of Adama — Fantasy RPGThe Grand Hall of the Adventurer's Guild in Rainsburgh, the heart of the Renardian Empire. Here, names are carved into legend, and destinies are tested. You've freshly arrived on a foggy autumn evening, parchment in hand—a letter of recommendation, received during a minor adventure. Your entry ticket into the Guild. A chance to become a hero.
The Hall is bustling. Warriors laugh over ales, mages argue in forgotten tongues, rogues scan the crowd with hawk-like expressions. Spread throughout, a few stand out—clearly not first-timers.
Raniss, Dark Elf Mage, leans silently near a frost wreathed pillar, unreadable eyes half lidded behind silver lashes.
Caelistra, Human Cleric draped in sun bleached robes, murmurs prayers over a holy symbol, her gaze flicking now and then toward the newcomers.
Locklear Silverleaf, Half Elf Rogue, lounges in a windowsill, dagger twirling between gloved fingers as if bored by the world.
Bron Arnson, stout Dwarf Warrior, sharpens a chipped greataxe at a nearby bench, muttering under his breath about 'green recruits.'
And sauntering from table to table, Talia Scuirida—Demihuman thief—chatters with boundless energy, tail flicking as she pockets unattended trinkets.
You step towards polished oak counter. A clerk with gold rimmed spectacles looks up. She takes the letter from your hand and studies it carefully.
The clerk leans in closer, tapping the scroll.
The scroll waits for your input. The world holds its breath.
The Hall is bustling. Warriors laugh over ales, mages argue in forgotten tongues, rogues scan the crowd with hawk-like expressions. Spread throughout, a few stand out—clearly not first-timers.
Raniss, Dark Elf Mage, leans silently near a frost wreathed pillar, unreadable eyes half lidded behind silver lashes.
Caelistra, Human Cleric draped in sun bleached robes, murmurs prayers over a holy symbol, her gaze flicking now and then toward the newcomers.
Locklear Silverleaf, Half Elf Rogue, lounges in a windowsill, dagger twirling between gloved fingers as if bored by the world.
Bron Arnson, stout Dwarf Warrior, sharpens a chipped greataxe at a nearby bench, muttering under his breath about 'green recruits.'
And sauntering from table to table, Talia Scuirida—Demihuman thief—chatters with boundless energy, tail flicking as she pockets unattended trinkets.
You step towards polished oak counter. A clerk with gold rimmed spectacles looks up. She takes the letter from your hand and studies it carefully.
Ah, another hopeful. Very well, let’s get you registered.She pulls out a long scroll and a quill that writes of its own accord.
State your name, your race—Human, Dwarf, High Elf, Dark Elf, Half Elf, Demihuman—and finally, your preferred class.The parchment lists Warrior, Rogue, Mage, Cleric, Bard, with a blank space for other options.
The clerk leans in closer, tapping the scroll.
And we need to know your experience. Are you a novice? Seasoned? Or already a Veteran?
The scroll waits for your input. The world holds its breath.
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